Love, Duty, and Other Difficult Things
by Lys ap Adin
Summary: It's time for Bianchi to come into her own, whether she likes it or not. Post-canon, Dino x Bianchi, smut, mafia hijinks, politics, drama, melodrama, angst.
1. Chapter 1

**Title:** Love, Duty, and Other Difficult Things**  
Pairings and Characters:** Dino/Bianchi, Gokudera, Tsuna, Reborn, Kyouko, Haru, miscellaneous OCs**  
Summary:** It's time for Bianchi to come into her own, whether she likes it or not.**  
Notes:**/strong Written for Ladies Big Bang 2010 at Dreamwidth. Contains smut, politics, a Hollywood view of mafia life and all that might entail, original characters, and high romantic melodrama. Diverges from the manga canon at chapter 282; takes place several years in the future, after Tsuna et al. have graduated high school. Deepest thanks and appreciation go to the mods for organizing and running the fest and to red_eft for cheerleading; to branchandroot, theodosia21, chronolith, and mercuria for cheering me on, holding my hand, offering feedback on the in-process drafts, and beta-reading the final draft. If any mistakes remain, it is because I ignored their sage advice and went my own stubborn way. 90,032 words.

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_**Love, Duty, and Other Difficult Things**_**  
Part**** One**

Bianchi had rented apartments that were smaller than the bed Dino Cavallone slept in.

It was an incongruous thought to have upon waking up, but Bianchi clung to it in the early-morning daze that came before coffee. His bed was huge, large enough to host at least a modest orgy, with a deep comfortable mattress and approximately a million pillows and sheets that Bianchi suspected of being either silk or some improbably high thread count. They could have both stretched out as far as their arms and legs could go without touching each other's fingertips.

Despite that, Dino was curled up against her, a cheek resting against her shoulder and an arm wrapped around her waist.

At least he wasn't drooling, Bianchi thought, and tried to make some kind of sense of how she'd come to be tangled up with him. There had been Tsuna's confirmation as the Tenth, with the reception after, and—

"Oh, fuck," Bianchi moaned, flailing a hand free of the duvet and covering her eyes. There had been champagne and all the Families worth the name in attendance, and there had been her _father_ and Jesus Christ, she was never drinking again.

Dino stirred against her. "That's not a very encouraging sign." His breath was warm against her shoulder.

"Oh, don't flatter yourself." Bianchi rubbed her forehead and ignored him, because in the grand scheme of things, finally tumbling into bed with Dino Cavallone after several years of mutual flirtation hardly mattered at all. "Oh my fucking God, I didn't really tell my father exactly what I think of him, did I?" Perhaps it was all a very bad dream.

Dino cleared his throat. "I guess that depends. Do you really think he's a two-timing old goat?"

So—not a bad dream. "Oh, fuck me," Bianchi groaned.

"If you really think it would help, okay." Dino slid his palm up her ribs and curved it around one of her breasts, stroking it.

"That was rhetorical, you idiot." Bianchi smacked his hand away, trying not to remember all the things she'd had to say to her father, the old goat, when he'd had the balls to approach her, all conciliatory and paternal. They didn't want to be forgotten, which was a real pity.

Dino laughed and left off feeling her up. "You can't blame me for trying."

"Wanna bet?" Bianchi shrugged the lazy weight of him off her and fought her way free of the tangle of bedding. "Oh, Christ, I am never going to drink again." The sheets slid to her waist as she sat up and pressed her fingers against her temples, where the last legacy of the previous night's champagne was aching dully.

"Hey." Dino touched her back, spreading one of his big hands against the small of it and running it up her spine. "It's gonna be okay."

"Did you _hear_ the things I called him?" Bianchi grimaced. "He could have me killed for that." She'd thought about her own mortality before, but only in terms of battles against overwhelming odds and the course of business. She'd never thought that she might die because she'd run afoul of the wrong person—everyone knew that a hitman's position was just business.

Dino pushed himself up and reached for her. She resisted his arms at first, before her common sense kicked in and reminded her that he was a friend and it was okay. Then she let herself lean against his shoulder. "He's not going to have you killed. You're his daughter."

That made her laugh, though probably not for the reasons he thought. "You think that really matters?" This was her father, who never had been the warm and fuzzy sort.

"Well, actually, yeah." Dino stroked her hair, careful of the tangles. "Your brother is never going to take over the Falco now, so you're the only other child he has. He needs you, either to be his heir or to marry someone who will."

That just reminded her of the anger that had driven her to speak so intemperately last night. "You think he wants me to be his _heir_? You don't know him very well, do you?" Rage curled inside her chest, its ragged claws raking at her rib cage. "And what the hell would I want to be a boss for?"

Dino elected not to answer the first point, much like he hadn't said anything the night before when he'd guided her away from the crowd to let her rant and then cry in private. Instead, he said, "Being a boss isn't that bad. I should know."

"Oh, please." Bianchi lifted her head from his shoulder and made a face at him. "He wouldn't let me be his heir. He just wants to marry me off to some poor schmuck who can do it instead."

Dino looked back, grave despite the bird's nest mess of his hair, and said, "So what's your point?"

It took her a moment to catch his meaning. When she did, she blinked. "You must be joking."

Dino shrugged. "Not really. Remember, he needs you more than you need him."

Bianchi contemplated that for a moment and then shook her head briskly to dispel the idea. "Cute, but it'll never work." And she didn't want it to work, but he wasn't likely to understand that. He'd never stood outside the Families.

Dino looked like he wanted to argue, but some instinct in the back of Bianchi's head suggested that it would be a bad idea to let him. The morning light that streamed in from the windows lit him up in pale ivory and gold and suggested a distraction. "I changed my mind," Bianchi said. She leaned forward and kissed him. "I want you to fuck me."

Dino's eyes crinkled up at the corners as he smiled; they said that he saw what she was trying to do. But he didn't argue. "All right." He leaned back and drew her down with him, one hand curving around her jaw as he kissed her and the other smoothing down her back.

Bianchi let herself melt against his chest, opening her mouth to his and embracing the distraction in all its lazy glory. Even so, what he'd suggested didn't quite leave her. It dwelt in the back of her mind like a specter, even after she'd come apart under the expert touch of his mouth and hands.

It would never work, she told herself. Dino was smart enough in most things, but this was one thing that he'd clearly got all wrong.

* * *

It was clearly too much to hope for that the rest of the world would overlook her display of temper, but even Bianchi hadn't quite expected Hayato to approach her about it. It was very nearly a violation of their tacit argument to never speak about their family ever.

"Hey." He didn't exactly look at her full in the face, but that wasn't anything new. At least she didn't need to cover her face just to have a conversation with him anymore. "You okay?" He was gruff about it, but he darted a quick look at her, clearly checking her over.

Bianchi was touched. "Of course I am. Why wouldn't I be?"

He glanced at her again and looked away. "You talked to—him. The other night."

"If you want to call it talking." She wasn't surprised that Hayato had heard; half the mafia had been witnesses and would have rushed to inform the other half. She was just surprised that he was bringing it up to her face.

Hayato snorted. "Fine. Screamed at him, then." He looked away from her, fidgeting with the cuffs of his shirt. He still looked ill at ease in his suits—not because they were unfamiliar to him, like they were to Tsuna, but because they _were_ familiar. "Thought maybe I should ask."

"I'm fine. It was nothing."

He snorted. "That's not the way I hear it."

"No?" Bianchi said, as casually as she could manage when she was holding her breath and wondering what he'd heard, what measures she'd need to take to do damage control.

Hayato gave up fiddling with his cuffs and reached for his cigarettes, shaking one out of the pack and lighting up. As he fussed with that, eyes fixed on the cigarette and his lighter, he said, "I heard you tore him a new one. For, um. You know."

The perverse imp in Bianchi's soul suggested that she ought to say that she didn't know. She crushed it. "I suppose I did. I was angry."

Hayato took a drag off his cigarette and then exhaled the smoke in a long plume. He watched it as it rose, curling towards the ceiling and dissipating. "Guess I can't blame you for that."

"Thanks, I guess."

"Yeah, well. He was shitty to both of us, wasn't he?" Hayato grinned at the ceiling, though it was a death's head baring of the teeth, mirthless. "Wish I'd been there to see it. Maybe I could have helped."

"It's probably better that you weren't." She had to say it around a strange tightness in her throat. "You're Tsuna's right hand now. You have appearances to keep."

"Yeah, I guess so." Hayato shifted his gaze away form the ceiling and tapped the ash off the end of his cigarette into a potted plant. He looked like he was uncomfortable with the whole topic, so Bianchi wasn't at all surprised when he changed it. "Heard you went home with Cavallone, too."

This was easier territory for both of them, actually. "So what if I did?"

Hayato glanced at her again. "He's a boss."

"Yeah, so?" Bianchi raised her eyebrows, though she knew very well what his point was.

She could see the retort rising in his throat and the moment when he seized his temper and restrained it, and marveled at the sight. "So you should be careful," he said, only a little aggravated.

"I'm always careful." That was an exaggeration and they both knew it, so she relented after a moment and added, "It's not serious. It's just a thing. Friendly. You know how it is."

Hayato sucked in another lungful of smoke and peered at her, green eyes narrow under the fringe of his hair. She wondered whether he did know, actually, considering how many issues he was still lugging around with him. Then he shrugged and looked away. "If you say so." He took another drag off his cigarette and added, "If he hurts you, I'll stuff a grenade up his ass and pull the pin."

Bianchi blinked and then broke into helpless laughter. "I think that's the nicest thing you've ever said to me."

Hayato just looked uncomfortable, mouth squinched up and embarrassed. "It's a thing," he said, stiffly. "Something brothers have to say." He finished his cigarette and crushed it out in the potted plant's soil.

His color was running high for someone who was only speaking out of fraternal obligation. Bianchi reached over to him and ruffled his hair. "Yeah, I know. Thanks."

He swiped at her hand, protesting the gesture. "Hey!" He stepped out of her reach and smoothed it back down, fussing with it till it had settled back into its usual fall before glancing at her again. "Anyway. That's all I wanted to say."

That had been plenty, but Bianchi didn't tell him so. She inclined her head. "Thanks."

They stood there, awkward, before she said to hell with it and stooped on him, hugging him quickly and then releasing him again before her proximity could make him vomit. "Gotta go," she lied. "Got an appointment to get to. Later, Hayato."

She swept out before he could do more than gurgle at her, smiling, because her little brother was finally growing up.

* * *

Years of flirtation culminating in a one-night stand that had been more about comfort than sex didn't seem likely to end badly to Bianchi, not least because of the whole one-night stand factor. She reconsidered that assessment when she ran into Dino on her way out of the Vongola house and they fell into conversation with each other about the Cetrulli thing. The conversation was an absorbing one; Bianchi was sitting across from him over dinner and discussing ways of delivering a box of poisoned croissants to Bernardo Cetrulli before she realized what she was doing.

"What the holy fuck," she said.

"No, I really do think that we could suborn his chef," Dino insisted. "We just have to guarantee his security after the fact and it'll be fine. I mean, would _you_ want to work for Bernardo?"

Bianchi let her mouth carry her forward on autopilot. "I did once. He has bad breath." And wandering hands, too, and Jesus Christ, what on earth was she doing sitting at Dino Cavallone's dinner table, looking at him through the candle light?

"_See_?" He waved a hand, coming dangerously close to upsetting his wine glass, but they were in the Cavallone house, at the heart of his territory, and that was enough to avert disaster. "Bad breath? Who would want to work for a boss like that?"

"He pays well." Bianchi studied him through the candle light. It had been done deftly, she had to give him that. "More to the point, he's a paranoid bastard. No one who touches his food does so without a serious vetting process. You're not going to get to him through his chef." Dino's mouth pursed, sulky. Before he could come up with another improbably wild scheme, Bianchi folded her hands under her chin and asked, "What the hell are we doing?"

Dino played with his fork, not quite managing to meet her eyes. "Having dinner?"

"I'd figured that part out myself." It wasn't the meal that was the problem, it was the fact that they were having it together and that Dino was wearing a nice shirt, one that was the color of the wine in their glasses and made his skin and hair glow.

Why on earth had God seen fit to make the man so damn attractive?

"We can't do this," Bianchi told him.

Dino did look at her then. "Why not?" He fidgeted with the stem of his wine glasses, long fingers moving over the glass, and Bianchi realized, too late, that she hadn't really prepared herself to be on guard against him.

"It's not a good idea," she said, knowing it for a weak parry even though it was the honest truth. They weren't suited at all; he was a boss and she was a hitman, and people had a way of talking about those kinds of things.

Though people always talked, a treacherous part of her brain pointed out. Bianchi squashed it.

"So?" Dino took a drink of his wine and looked at her again. "Since when has that ever stopped us?"

"...I wish that weren't as true as it is." Bianchi took a breath and looked away from him, eyes roaming over the paintings on the walls and the double French doors that opened onto the terrace that overlooked the bay. Sunset had been a while ago, but she could see lights moving across the water, night fishermen and pleasure vessels. "This can't go anywhere."

"There's nothing wrong with doing something just for the sake of doing it."

She glanced at him again; he was watching her, not really smiling, but pleasantly grave. Oh, the hell with it. What was one more bad decision, anyway? "As long as you know this can't get serious."

He smiled. "I know that." He glanced at the remains of their meal and then back up. "Would you like to go upstairs?"

Bianchi took a breath and lifted the napkin from her lap, laying it beside her plate. "Yes."

The last time they'd done this, she hadn't exactly been inclined to pay attention to minor details. There had been other matters to distract her, like her anger and then her nerves. This time Bianchi had the time to appreciate the things she hadn't before, like the unconscious confidence in the way Dino walked, no hint of the clumsiness that plagued him elsewhere while he was here in the heart of his home, surrounded by his people.

How had Reborn managed to instill that in him? Had it been the same way he'd goaded Tsuna forward, or some other way? Perhaps she'd have to ask him sometime.

This wasn't the time for it, not when Dino was ushering her into his bedroom with its stupidly large bed. The covers were already turned down for them, and there were more candles, small votive ones floating in bowls of water, to light the room.

"You _planned_ this, didn't you," Bianchi said, not entirely surprised.

"Maybe a little?" The look Dino cast at her was a mixture of little boy pride and adult uncertainty. "Is it working?"

No one had ever tried to outright seduce her before, if she wanted to call this a seduction attempt. Bianchi couldn't quite help being a little charmed by the effort. "Why don't you try to kiss me and find out?"

He grinned. "Guess I can do that."

The thing Bianchi liked about Dino Cavallone—one of the things she liked—was that he was satisfyingly direct about some things. Having gotten the business of persuading her to go along with this silly fling out of the way and having secured permission to kiss her, he did.

If one had to have a fling, she supposed she could have done far worse than Dino. He treated each kiss like it was a new discovery; his mouth moved against hers, slow and expert, as she parted her lips for him. Bianchi liked that, and the way he rested his hands on her hips, cradling them without trying to go straight for her breasts or her ass. More men should be so gentlemanly, she thought, wry.

Dino's mouth left hers and moved along her jaw. She tipped her head to the side as he nuzzled the corner of it, something beginning to curl low in her stomach, wanting. She said his name as she slid her fingers into his hair—yes, it was just as silky as she'd remembered it being.

He murmured her name back to her, lips just brushing against her skin, and closed his mouth on her earlobe. Bianchi moaned at the rush of heat that made her stomach tighten. Dino made a pleased sound, husky against her ear, and she shivered as he exploited his discovery, sucking softly until she had to hold onto his shoulders, leaning against him as that unstrung her spine and her knees. It wasn't fair for him to have such an advantage, she decided, and planted a hand against his chest, fingers sliding under the placket of his shirt and finding the warm skin beneath.

He took that as permission and lifted a hand from her hip, running it up her side and curving it around her breast. Bianchi sighed, tipping her head back as he kissed her throat and fondled her, fingers exploring the shape of her. His breath was warm against her collarbone as he traced his lips along it, till he met the edge of her collar and said, "This would be better without clothes."

He sounded so diffident about it in spite of the fact that his thumb was rubbing back and forth over her breast and making her breath come short that Bianchi couldn't stop herself from laughing. "I think you're right." She stepped back from him and set her hands at her shirt's hem, lifting it and peeling it off. She unhooked her bra and let that fall, too, smiling at the way Dino's eyes widened a bit even though he'd seen them before. Boys, she thought fondly. "Your turn, I think."

He didn't lose any time; his fingers flew to undo the buttons of his shirt. Bianchi watched him shrug out of it, approving of the way he looked. He was a pretty, pretty man, broad at the shoulders and slim at the waist, and he looked good shirtless and his slacks sitting low on his hips, showing off the creamy gold of his skin and the first dusting of fine blond hair low on his belly. It was a pity about the way his erection was ruining the tailored lines of his slacks, except that it really wasn't a pity at all.

Bianchi took a long look to savor later and stepped against him, running her hands up over his chest and raising her mouth to his for another slow kiss. He groaned against her mouth as she leaned against him, skin to skin, and spread his hands against her back. That felt good; Bianchi wriggled against him, sighing as that made her stomach curl tighter.

"God," he said, voice low. He stroked his hands up her body, finding her breasts and cradling them in his palms. "You have the most amazing breasts—you really do. I could play with them for hours."

"Well, if you really want." Bianchi stepped back from him again, making her way backwards as he protested. When her legs hit the bed, she stopped and kicked her shoes off. "I won't stop you." She sat and leaned back on her hands, arching her back just a little, watching his face light up.

"Oh, hell yes." Dino joined her in two quick steps, nearly bowling her over in his eagerness. Bianchi laughed as he pressed her back, until his hands found her breasts again, stroking against them and making her gasp. Then he buried his face between them, tracing his mouth over the curve of one and closing his lips on it, tongue stroking against her, and she groaned as the sensation ran through her, turning her spine liquid.

He seemed to have meant it, too; he mouthed and stroked her breasts until she was panting for breath, fingers moving over his shoulders and through his hair, restless with the way his touch was building pleasure that curled and knotted itself through her without anywhere to go. "Dino," she said, finally, "please."

"Yeah," he breathed, soft against her skin, and kissed his way up her throat. She curled her fingers in his hair and kissed him as he undid her jeans, lifting her hips so he could pull them down. She kicked them off and Dino ran his hands back up her legs. The calluses on his fingertips and his palms dragged a little against the tender skin of her thighs and Bianchi gasped at the way that felt, every bit of her skin oversensitive.

She reached down to help him out of his slacks, but clutched his back instead when his fingers kept stroking up, sliding between her legs and stroking against her. "Fuck," she gasped, hips lifting up and rocking against his fingers, shuddering with the rush of sensation. Dino's fingers moved against her, slick and sure, thumb teasing up against her clit and circling it, light and slow. Bianchi moaned as pleasure unfurled through her, slow ripples of it moving through her, closer to what she wanted but still not quite enough. She drove her hips against his fingers, panting, though he didn't seem inclined to take the hint until frustration made her growl, "Come on and fuck me, Cavallone."

The sound he made was too satisfied, but she was beyond caring—not when he was finally stripping out of the rest of his clothes and finding a condom. He looked as ready as she was, flushed and hard, and settled over her quickly. "Fucking _finally_," she said, and wound a leg around his hips. "Come on—oh...!" She groaned as he finally pushed into her, arching into the sliding pressure of it as his cock sank into her and he gasped her name.

Dino's mouth moved against her throat, kissing it in that moment when he held himself poised against her. Then he moved and Bianchi lost track of things a little as their hips rolled together and his cock slid against her in all the right ways. His hands moved over her skin, caressing her breasts and running down her back, lifting her into the strokes that sent pleasure sweeping along her nerves, washing her higher and higher. Then she couldn't even think any more, or do more than hold onto his shoulders, gasping for breath as the momentum of it gathered and built, until he hitched her hips a little higher and his cock sank into her at just the right angle. She broke apart then, plunging down into the wild rush of heat, crying out with the way it swept through her again and again, relentless.

Her throat was dry when she came back down, and Dino was sprawled over her, still shuddering. Bianchi couldn't even make herself think of moving him, not when every last centimeter of her was still tingling and boneless. "Oh my God," she managed, when she could finally dredge up her words again.

Dino groaned something that was inarticulate but sounded like agreement to her.

She mustered up the energy and the coordination to lift a hand to his hair, petting it clumsily. He made an appreciative sound and turned his head, tucking his face against her throat and nuzzling it. Bianchi realized, then, that she wasn't going to go home after this, not even if it was the smart thing to do. Dino wasn't going to ask her to leave and she was in no mood to bother with the trouble of untangling herself from him, cleaning up, and going back to the apartment she was renting and the cheap mattress that wasn't even half as good as his.

This was how smart girls got themselves into trouble, she told herself sternly.

Dino stirred then and eased himself away from her. That moment of cleaning up would have been the moment to disengage, to kiss him and thank him and let him order a car for her. Bianchi marshaled herself to do it, but he forestalled her by giving her a sweet smile, one turned his eyes soft and made him seem much younger than Bianchi knew him to be. "You're so beautiful," he said, touching her cheek with the tips of his fingers, soft as the brush of a snowflake.

Yes, Bianchi thought, some part of her already resigned while another part of her melted at the gesture. She was in trouble.

She opened her arms to him and fell asleep with him curled next to her anyway.

* * *

It was a few days later that Dino brought the matter of Bianchi's father and his Family up over breakfast. His people had seen them installed on the terrace with a table of croissants and butter and bowls of fresh fruit, and a carafe of orange juice and another of strong coffee. They'd also relieved Bianchi of her clothes, whisking them away to be laundered and leaving her to resort to Dino's robe. She was considering the merits of packing an overnight bag the next time they planned on having dinner and whether that would be giving in and admitting that this was an official kind of a thing when Dino cleared his throat. "So about the Falco..."

Oh, God. "What about them?" Bianchi poured herself a cup of coffee and eyed him warily as she inhaled the steam from it.

The wind was playing merry havoc with his hair, tossing it around and making it difficult to take him seriously. "I thought you might want to know what they're up to."

"Why would you think that?" Bianchi selected a croissant off the plate and broke it apart to spread bright strawberry preserves on it.

Dino opened his mouth and then shut it again, shaking his head. He selected an orange from the bowl and began peeling it, long fingers digging into the peel and pulling it off in long strips. "They're your Family," he said, concentrating on the work he was doing.

The hell he said. Bianchi took a bite of her croissant; it nearly melted on her tongue. "I stopped being a Falco the day I turned hitman. It's not my Family any more."

Dino's eyes were fixed on his orange and the white curls of pith he was picking off it, but he frowned a little at that. "You don't care what happens to it?"

"Not really." They had never really cared for her, the firstborn who'd failed to be a son, the daughter who'd failed at being a lady and had left them to become a hitman. "As long as the old goat manages to find me a new baby brother? I could care less."

Dino's frown deepened. "You think that's going to happen? Your mother is..."

"Isn't really healthy, actually." It was ruthless, but Bianchi hadn't gotten along without learning to be dispassionate when she had to be. "Could get sick and die of natural causes any day now."

Dino's hands paused in the act of picking pith off the orange; he looked startled. "You don't think he would...?"

"No, really, I mean it. She's never been particularly healthy." Not that there was much love lost between Luciano and Costanza Falco, of course; Bianchi wasn't entirely willing to put it past him. "Once she goes, there'll be someone who'll twist his arm hard enough that he'll remarry, preferably someone who can pop out the babies till he gets the son he needs. And there, problem solved."

He dug his thumbs into the orange, splitting it in half, and passed one of the halves over to her. "You'd be okay with that?"

"Sure, why not?" Bianchi selected one of the orange segments. It was juicy and sweet when she bit into it; she had to lick her fingers clean. "I told you. They're not my Family any more. I don't have a Family, unless you want to count the Vongola." Tsuna probably did, at any rate; she'd never seen someone so good at claiming ragtag bits of humanity and weaving them into something that was a whole. It wouldn't surprise her at all if he thought she was a part of that.

Dino looked up at her, hair flopping into his eyes, and for a moment she could see that he was looking at her as a boss had to, not as a friend or a lover. "Perhaps it will be that easy," he said. Then he tried a piece of his orange and squawked in dismay as the juice from it dribbled down his chin and stained the crispness of his white shirt. "Damn it!"

Bianchi laughed at him. "It's a good orange." She picked off another segment and bit into it, letting the juice burst against her tongue, sweet.

"And this is a new shirt," he complained, peering at it.

"It's only orange juice," she told him, entertained by his dismay. "It'll wash out." But then, perhaps he didn't have any idea what could be washed and what couldn't—well, he had people for that. She popped the rest of the segment into her mouth and licked the juice from her fingers.

The motion caught his eye and he glanced up as she sucked the last of it from her fingertips. "Nngh," he said; he was staring.

Perhaps it made her a bad person, but Bianchi rather liked the way his expression went stupid with lust. "What was that?" She picked up another segment and bit into it, and caught the juice that slid down her fingers with her tongue.

Dino's eyes nearly glazed over. "Oh," he said. "Oh, you're mean." His voice had gone husky.

"Am I?" Bianchi sucked her fingertips into her mouth in rapid succession, enjoying herself immensely as his eyes tracked the movement of her lips.

"You _know_ I have to leave to meet the Cizeta soon." Dino's eyes followed her fingers as she picked up her croissant again and bit into it; he made another of those wordless sounds as a little of the preserves slid off the side and onto her palm.

"I don't see what that has to do with anything."

Dino leaned across the table and caught her hand as she raised it to her mouth. "No?" he asked, bending over her hand. His tongue flicked across her palm, scouring the preserves off it. Bianchi shivered at the softness of it and the tickle of his hair brushing across her wrist. "Maybe I should cancel the meeting and show you what I mean."

"Because that would go over so well with the Cizeta." Bianchi shivered as his mouth traced down her palm and his lips moved across her wrist, tracing over pattern of her veins. Of course, she never had liked the Cizeta much. "Dino..."

"What are you doing tonight?" he asked, lips brushing against the place where her pulse was beating faster. "Any plans?"

"None so far." She sounded breathless, even to herself.

Dino lifted his mouth away from her wrist and smiled at her, slow and lazy and full of all kinds of promises. "Would you spend it with me?"

Two evenings in a row wasn't a good idea. On the other hand, her skin was tingling where his lips had just touched it, and Bianchi was just a little stupid with lust herself. "That sounds like fun."

"Yeah, I hope so." Dino passed his tongue over his lips as she picked up the last orange segment and ate it in two quick bites. "Jesus Christ, I think I hate the Cizeta."

Bianchi laughed and thought about it. "How long do you have?"

He checked his watch. "Twenty minutes," he said, woeful.

Bianchi snorted; that was plenty of time. She said as much as she glanced around the terrace, but it was about as private as anyone could really hope for.

"Oh my God," Dino said when she came around the table and knelt between his knees. The flagstones under her hadn't soaked in much of the heat from the morning sun; the coolness of them was a pleasant contrast to the way it warmed her hair and her shoulders. He was hard; she could see the line of his cock pressing against his slacks. He groaned when she undid his fly and drew him out of his underwear. "Jesus, Bianchi..."

"I haven't even done anything yet," she said, amused, running her fingers up and down his cock, stroking him the rest of the way hard. He really did have a nice cock, pleasingly-sized in her hand, sleek and heavy.

"Are you kidding me? You—oh, _fuck_." He groaned again, hoarse, when she bent her head over him, lips smoothing over him and tongue stroking against his head. There wasn't really any time to figure out what he liked, so Bianchi moved her mouth over his cock, tongue working steadily as she curled her fingers around the length of it. That actually seemed to be plenty, judging by the sounds he made and the way his hips flexed as he gripped the arms of the chair. Her name tumbled from his mouth, mixed with incoherent curses, and she hummed around him, pleased by the effect.

He groaned a warning when he got close, which just showed that he really was a nice boy. Bianchi tightened her fingers around him and slid her tongue over his head, sucking harder, and felt the thigh under her hand go taut as he finally came, flat and salt on her tongue. Then he went lax, lolling against the chair, clearly stunned.

Bianchi availed herself of one of the napkins and then smiled at him. "There," she said, tucking him back into his slacks and doing them up again. "Now you don't have to hate the Cizeta any more." She returned to her chair, arranging his robe around her.

"They're going to destroy me in negotiations today," Dino told her. He was still looking dazed. "I think my brain just melted out my ears."

"Flatterer." Bianchi took a sip of her coffee to hide her smile.

"No, I mean it." He flailed a hand in the air. "Can't negotiate, no brain. Might as well call the whole thing off and stay in bed with you."

Bianchi rolled her eyes. "Oh, go change your shirt."

He peered at her from beneath his lashes. "You sure?"

"You can't cancel your meeting just to roll around with me." She shooed him. "And you shouldn't be late. Go on."

She must have done a good job of sounding like she meant it, because he got up, the movement lazy and satiated. When he stooped over her chair and kissed her, his mouth was sticky and still tasted of oranges. "All right," he said, when he finally drew away from her. "But don't think that I won't remember this tonight."

"Promises, promises." Bianchi swatted his ass. "You're going to be late."

"I'll send a car for you. Around six." He kissed her again, unhurried. "Okay?"

She couldn't quite help being breathless, not after a set of kisses like that. "Sure."

Dino smiled down at her. "Okay. Till tonight."

Bianchi watched his lazy saunter inside before topping off her cooling cup of coffee and leaning back in her chair. And if she was grinning at nothing in particular, so what? She had reason enough for it.

* * *

The thing with the Cetrulli was shaping up to be interesting, from a purely technical standpoint. Bianchi found herself spending a fair bit of her time at the Vongola house, talking shop with the underbosses and hitmen and discussing whether the Vongola would go to war or not. Bianchi thought not, not unless they absolutely had to, now that Tsuna was in a position where he could handle things for himself.

She didn't see her brother or Tsuna—or any of the kids—often these days, but that wasn't so surprising, given their new duties. She did run into Reborn one afternoon, or perhaps he sought her out. He appeared through a crowd of hitmen down at the firing range as they parted to let him pass and eyed him in surreptitious awe. "Bianchi," he said, when she'd taken the ear protectors off and had flicked the safety of her gun.

She returned the greeting in kind, tilting her head. "Reborn."

"Walk with me," he said.

That had an ominous ring to it, but Bianchi holstered her gun and hung up her safety glasses and ear protectors anyway. Walking with Reborn meant letting him jump into her arms and recline against her chest, making himself comfortable against her breasts, but she'd never begrudged him that.

He was silent until she'd emerged from the firing range into the afternoon sun. "You've been speaking to your father."

"If you want to call it that." Bianchi turned off the main path and strolled into the south garden with its neat beds of flowers and the drowsy hum of the bees that drifted from blossom to blossom. "I'd call it screaming, myself."

"You think that's a good idea?"

Bianchi glanced down at him, but saw only the top of his fedora. "Was that Reborn-speak for 'You're being a damn idiot'?"

"If you like." They came to a stone bench that sat among a profusion of flowers and he hopped down from her arms to stand on it. Bianchi sat next to him so she could look him in the eye. "The Falco Family is not one to trifle with."

"I'm not the one doing the trifling." Bianchi leaned back on her hands, looking up at the sky that arched over them, achingly blue. "I think I'm the one being trifled with."

"Just because you're a woman doesn't mean you're any more attractive when you're feeling sorry for yourself." Reborn punctuated that with a ruthless kick at her elbow that she barely managed to dodge. "The past is the past."

"It's still with us, though," Bianchi retorted, though if anyone had earned the right to say such things to her, it was Reborn. "Anyway, that's not what makes me angry." Reborn looked at her, unblinking, until she amended the statement. "It's not the only thing that makes me angry. I'm not his pawn. He can't just move me around wherever he wants me, because I'm not going to stand for it. I left that Family years ago and he was fine with it then. He doesn't get to change his mind about it now."

"Sometimes I forget how young you really are." Reborn was using his long-suffering tone, the one he took when a student was being unfathomably dim. "Do you really think this is all about you?"

"I _know_ it's not about me." She looked away from Reborn and the way he stood, arms folded, lecturing her the same way he lectured Tsuna. "I think I'd mind it less if I thought I entered into it at all. But this is about what the Falco needs. Nothing more than that." She shook her head. "And I say fuck 'em. There are other Families."

"What worked for your brother may not work for you."

Bianchi looked at him. Reborn looked back, sober. "Why the hell not?"

"Whether you call yourself a Falco or not, people know who you are. And they know who your brother is and who he stands with now." Reborn said it all calmly, like he was reading a grocery list and not ticking off the points that came together to make a trap. "They also know the Falco don't have any extant branches in the family tree. You're the only legitimate child. No one is going to take you in."

Bianchi looked at him; she thought he might have been a little sympathetic, though she might have been imagining that. "Not even Tsuna?"

"Tsuna might." Reborn admitted it reluctantly. "But you're not the only person he has to concern himself with."

Which meant, essentially, that one freelance hitman couldn't outweigh the concerns of an entire Family.

Bianchi leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees and cradling her forehead in her palms, and forced herself to take a breath and exhale slowly, and then repeat the process. Had she really been relying that much on the thought that Tsuna would be her salvation, the same way he'd been Hayato's? The sudden unmoored feeling suggested that yes, she had. "_Fuck_," she said, when she was breathing steadily again. "_Fuck_."

It was Reborn she was talking to, so she didn't add anything about how unfair it was. Reborn had no patience for such talk, not when he was intimately familiar with how deeply unfair their world could be.

"I thought you should know." There _was_ a measure of sympathy in his voice at that, though it didn't do much to comfort her.

She couldn't bring herself to thank him, not for that, though politeness demanded that she acknowledge the gesture. "I... appreciate the thought."

Reborn snorted. "I'm sure you do." He hopped down from the bench and eased his way between her knees so that she had to look at him. His eyes were grave. "You can't plan based on bad data." With that, he tipped his hat to her and strolled away.

A hitman's platitude, that. She couldn't quite stomach it; had she thought it would have a chance of actually hitting him, she would have sent a batch of poison cooking after him. Bianchi gritted her teeth instead and conserved her energy, focusing on scraping her equilibrium back together. When she could think again, she did, carefully.

Reborn had a point, however little she liked it. The other Families couldn't help knowing who she was and it was true that she hadn't had much contact from would-be employers since getting back to Italy. But the Vongola had paid well and she had money put by, so she could scrape along for a while before things turned dire on that front.

On to the second point: her father didn't have any other kids to call on. Well, no. Not yet. But he wasn't dead yet, and wouldn't be for a while, given what she remembered seeing of the future that wasn't. So the Falco could take care of itself. It would take care of itself. There were plenty of fertile young women around who might be coaxed into bed with the boss of the Falco. Would be, sooner or later, she knew that much, and then nature would take its course. Whatever else she could say about her father, he wasn't entirely an idiot. Sentimentality aside, he'd give her another half-sibling and then he'd lose interest again and she'd be free to go her own way. All she had to do was wait him out, was all.

Yeah. That could work.

Bianchi nodded, decisive, and winced when she checked the time—she'd been sitting for longer than she'd thought. If she was going to change before meeting Dino, she was going to have to move quickly.

* * *

Romario showed up before she was quite ready. Bianchi made a face at him and said, "Just give me two minutes."

"Of course," he said, placid, and waited for her as she did a quick sweep of the bathroom and the bedroom to throw an overnight bag together. He stood by patiently as she locked her door and escorted her down to the car, and relieved her of her bag as he saw her settled in the back seat.

Bianchi wondered what he thought of his boss's little affair with her, whether he approved or not or just didn't care. He certainly didn't given any impression one way or another, the very soul of bland courtesy as he drove her from her apartment out to the Cavallone house and escorted her inside. He made her overnight bag disappear somehow as he did, and ushered her into the drawing room where Dino was sprawled on a couch with a glass of wine and a book. "Miss Bianchi," he said, even though Dino was already bouncing to his feet, and withdrew.

"Dino." Bianchi wrapped her arms around his shoulders, lifting her face to his for a kiss, and let the sweep of his arms closing around her draw her close. His mouth was sure against hers and she relaxed into it. However complicated the universe seemed to want her life to be, at least this moment was simple enough.

"How are you?" His mouth barely left hers to ask the question, and his hands were already sliding up her back, under her t-shirt.

"Just fine." She arched under his hands. "How'd your meeting go?"

"Mm, I have no idea." Dino's mouth slid along her jaw, lips brushing against her skin. "I thought about you all day."

Bianchi told herself that the way her breath caught was for the way his mouth slid over her throat, but that didn't have anything to do with the softness that unfurled itself in her chest. "Oh, that's practical of you."

"Oops." His lips tickled the spot under her ear and Bianchi leaned against him, the thrill of the sensation making her knees go wobbly. "Oh well."

"So what were you thinking about instead of business?" Bianchi asked as his thumb stroked against the small of her back.

His mouth brushed against her ear, soft and intimate. "Why don't I show you?"

"Think I'd like that," she said.

He kissed her again, mouth slow against hers, full of promise. Then he twined her fingers with his and drew her along with him, down the hall and around the corner to his bedroom. Bianchi laughed a little at the exuberance of his grin and the way he pulled her to him when he'd kicked the door shut after him. "You're in a mood, aren't you?"

Dino's eyes were bright. "Maybe?"

He caught her close and kissed her till she was breathless, mouth tasting of wine and enthusiasm or maybe just his pleasure that she was here with him. Bianchi let his mood infect her, drinking it in greedily and laughing into his mouth.

Dino didn't bother with any teasing games as they undressed. His hands were quick on buttons and zippers and the clasp of her bra, seeking bare skin with the sort of persistence that suggested that he really did have a goal and plan for reaching it. Bianchi helped him where she could, whenever his mouth wasn't on hers, tongue stroking against hers and making her knees go weak with the way it flirted with hers. Dino didn't seem to mind that and just slid his hands down her body when they were both bare, settling them on her hips and pulling her close.

"This is nice," Bianchi said, running her hands up his chest.

"Glad you like it." Dino edged a thigh against hers, nudging her back. Bianchi let him and laughed when he finally sent her over backwards onto the bed. Her laugh stuttered short when he leaned over her and kissed her again, hands trailing down her body purposefully, sliding over her thighs and coaxing them wide. He smiled at her as he did. "Think I owe you one for this morning."

"Oh, _God_," Bianchi said as he knelt between her thighs and she felt his breath against her skin. She closed her hands on a pillow at the first slide of his tongue against her, warm and soft, moaning at the suddenness of the sensation. "Fuck, Dino...!"

The look he cast her had laughter in it; that didn't stop him from stroking his tongue against her, deliberately slow, circling it against her clit and sending pleasure twining through her, uncurling along her nerves slow and thick. Bianchi twisted her fingers in the pillows, panting at the slowness of his mouth and the way sensation built slowly, layers of it winding around her with the patient movement of his mouth and his tongue and oh _fuck_, his long fingers sliding into her, stroking against the right spots and twisting against them. That was when she flew apart, arching under him and groaning as orgasm rushed through her, unstoppable as a tidal wave, shaking her to pieces in the sweep of it.

Dino was lounging next to her by the time Bianchi caught her breath and opened her eyes again, her entire body feeling loose and heavy with her release. He was grinning, clearly pleased with himself.

Bianchi supposed he'd earned it. "God." She sank a lazy hand into his hair and pulled him to her to kiss him.

Dino made an agreeable sound against her mouth, and another one when she let her hand skim down his chest to curl around his cock. His hips rolled against her grip, leisurely little thrusts that belied how hard he was and the satisfied murmurs that his lips shaped against hers. That was fine; Bianchi was content to stroke him slowly, fingers tracing over the shape of him as she kissed him and his hands stroked against her back.

If Reborn was right, she wasn't going to get to do this for very much longer.

The thought struck her with a painful sort of clarity, emerging out of the satisfied haze of her thoughts like an iceberg. It wouldn't be seemly to carry on like this if her father had his way. Or even if it only _looked_ like he was going to have his way.

Dino hummed against her mouth, lazy and interrogative, when her hand stilled against him. Bianchi made a rapid decision and pressed him onto his back. When he blinked up at her, eyebrows raised, she said, "Condoms?"

He gestured. "In the drawer."

Bianchi leaned over to investigate the bedside table and found the box. Dino stretched out where she'd left him, watching her unwrap the condom. He made a pleased sound when she slid it onto him, hips lifting into her grip. He made another when she knelt over him and ran his hands up her thighs, looking up at her with such frank appreciation in his gaze that Bianchi could almost have blushed with it. Then she did blush when he said, "God, you're beautiful."

"I bet you say that to all the girls," she muttered. She sank down on him before he could get a reply out, sighing at the fullness of his cock inside her and the way he groaned under her, eyes going half-lidded. She was still sensitive from before; the feel of him inside her and the slow friction as she rocked herself against him, grinding down on him, was enough to make her breath come short again.

Dino breathed her name, hands running over her thighs and her hips, and smiled at her. "No, you really are something else."

"Flattery will get you everywhere, Cavallone." Bianchi lifted herself up and sank down on him again, letting Dino's hands hold her hips steady. He rocked up to meet the slow flex of her body, groaning breathlessly as she rode him. He was beautiful too, Bianchi thought, though she didn't say it, lean and gold against the whiteness of the sheets, his tattoos a colorful splash up his arm and throat. It was good to have him like this, with his hands warm on her skin and the burn of her thigh muscles as she rocked herself over him, enjoying the wave of pleasure that rolled up her spine with every slide of his cock inside her, until she was hovering on the edge of being swept away again. "Dino," she said, softly.

"Yeah, I've got you." He slid a hand down her thigh and stroked his thumb against her, rubbing it against her clit. Bianchi gasped as sensation poured through her again, body seizing on his. He groaned, his hips driving up against hers, and the short little thrusts dragged the heat out and out, until he finally stilled under her.

Bianchi let herself sag against his chest as she caught her breath, draped against him and not entirely sure she wanted to move from that spot.

"It's not flattery," he said, presently, as he curled an arm around her. "You know that, right?"

"I've never been insecure about my looks." There were so many _other_ things she could beat herself up over instead. But she wasn't going to think about those, not now. It was better to enjoy the steady rise and fall of Dino's chest beneath hers, and to trace her eyes over the bright curls of ink on his skin, wondering at the choices that had inspired them. Some of them were obvious, like the Cavallone crest and the bucking horse. Others were less so... why the barbed wire?

"It's good that you know." Dino wound a lock of her hair around his fingers, voice meditative as he played with it. "You're beautiful. And strong, too. And I like that you know what you want and go after it. Wish more people would do that."

"Makes it easier if they don't." She felt compelled to point that out, though he surely knew it already.

"Well, yes. But it's awfully boring. And you're never boring."

"Thanks. I think."

Dino's chest shook under hers as he laughed. "Guess that does sound like a weird compliment, huh?" He craned his head, looking down at her. "I mean it, though. I like being with you."

"Well, thanks." That was gratifying to hear, and put an uneasy feeling at the pit of her stomach. "I kinda like being with you, too." It was the truth, it was what one _said_ in moments like this, and he still lit up like the sun.

Oh, Bianchi thought. Oh, she was so far in over her head.

She shuddered back from that and cast around for something else to say. "Dino."

His smile dimmed a little at the sound of his name and the grimness that even Bianchi could hear in her own voice. "What is it?"

Bianchi drew a breath. No one could make plans with bad data and he'd wanted to tell her something that morning. So. "What were you going to say about the Falco this morning?"

Dino's smile melted away. "A few things. I thought you didn't care about them?"

"I don't." Bianchi took a breath. "I talked to Reborn today." She shifted against Dino, uncomfortable with the sudden tension she could feel running through him. "He says I don't get to leave the Falco the way Hayato did. That none of the other Families will take me since I'm the only legitimate kid the old goat has." The unfairness of it still gnawed at her. "I don't agree with him. But. I figure I ought to be paying attention, though. Just in case the old goat tries something."

"...he's not quite right, anyway." Dino lifted a hand and ran it through her hair. "The Cavallone would take you."

Bianchi lifted her head and glared at him. "I don't need charity, Cavallone."

"What charity are you talking about?" He didn't flinch at either her glare or her irritation. "You're a damn good hitman. We can always use those." He kept on running his hand through her hair, slow; Bianchi resisted the way it made her want to relax against him. "Would've suggested it sooner, if I hadn't thought you'd take it the wrong way. You know, all things considered."

Bianchi eyed him, suspicious, but his gaze was perfectly candid. "You shouldn't be offering it now. No one would believe it wasn't because we're fucking."

"Yeah, I know. I was just saying, Reborn was wrong." Dino grinned, serious mood vanishing. "I think I've waited my whole life to get to say that."

"I'll just bet you have." Bianchi settled against him again, somewhat soothed. "So. The Falco. Spill it."

He let out a breath and spread one of his hands against her back, running it up and down her spine. "Right, the Falco. What I hear says the people are kind of... uncertain. Worried. Have been since Tsuna stepped up and took over and made Hayato his right hand."

"No surprises there." The people who made up a Family did tend to like having a nice, clear line of succession. Couldn't really have a Family without someone to lead it.

"Yeah. From what I hear, your father has someone from his underbosses that he favors a lot. Name's Conti, Davide Conti."

Bianchi pursed her lips. "Yeah? What about him?" Though she could hazard a guess or two...

"He's one of the Falco's best men, from what I hear." Davide rearranged his arms around Bianchi as he shifted against the pillows, settling her against him. "He's supposed to be pretty good, anyway. Very loyal to the Family, devoted to your dad. Smart. A good shot. Can't say that much more, though—I've never met him."

"Yeah, I haven't either." He could very well have been at Tsuna's reception, but she hadn't run into him before things had gotten ugly. "You know anything else?"

"No." Dino threaded his fingers through her hair, playing with it. "Should I?"

Bianchi snorted; if Dino couldn't see why she was interested, then she'd have to bite him for being oblivious. "He's the man I'm probably supposed to marry."

Dino went still under her. "This is sudden."

Bianchi poked his ribs and rode out his squirming. "Don't be ridiculous. From the sounds of it, my father's grooming Conti to take over for him. Only Conti's not his kin."

She didn't need to draw a diagram for him, since political marriages happened all the time. "My people have said that your father's been known to say that Conti's like a son to him."

Bianchi tried to be surprised that he'd known more about Conti than he'd been saying and failed. "Yeah, that's not a surprise. Poor bastard."

Dino was silent after that, but the stillness of him was thoughtful, not angry. That was a quality of his that she appreciated; well, one did tend to like the things in others that one didn't have oneself. "So you don't want to get married." He said it with a little lilt to his voice, an interrogative one.

"Not just so my father can have an heir." She didn't even try to keep the bitterness out of her voice, not when it was burning her throat. "And not to a man I've never even met, and I don't care how devoted he is to the Family. My mother did that, and look where it go her." The laugh that bubbled out of her chest was sharp enough that she could feel it scraping her throat like ground glass. "You know, I worked damned hard to get to where I am now, and still the only thing that matters is that I'm his daughter. Fuck."

Dino stirred. "That doesn't matter to me."

"Then you're the only one."

"Hey." He curled his arms around her, drawing her closer. "That's not true."

"It sure as hell feels like it sometimes." And it felt good to lean against him, good to have at least one person who was willing to be sympathetic.

Dino opened his mouth like he was going to say something. Then he shut it again and sighed. "It'll work out," he said, finally. "You'll see."

"Damn straight it's going to work out." Bianchi shook her head. "The old goat can scheme all he wants and groom half a dozen underbosses and give me a whole selection of 'em to choose from. I'm not going to do it."

"Stubborn," he said.

"Pretty much, yeah." And this conversation was getting depressing. Bianchi pushed herself up, looking down at him and running a palm down his chest, and smiled when his breath turned faster and his eyes gleamed. "So enough of that. Let's talk about something else."

"You had something in particular in mind?" he murmured, hand slipping lower and curving around her ass.

"Surprise me," Bianchi said and lowered her mouth to his.

* * *

The Sky Flame didn't run in the Falco, so it had never been their Family's practice to have a full complement of Guardians the way the Families with the Sky often did. However, the Falco bosses did tend to keep a handful of trusted advisors who served as de facto Guardians.

One of them was standing on Bianchi's doorstep when she answered the knock. He was every bit as dapper as she remembered him being, if a bit older and greyer now. "Uncle Stefano," Bianchi said, surprised to see him. Someone—her father, or maybe his right hand—had gotten smart and realized who would make an effective messenger.

Still, she couldn't help being pleased to see him.

He seemed just as pleased. "Hey there, kiddo." Stefano embraced her, kissing her cheeks and enveloping her in the smell of his cologne and hair oil. "May I come in?"

"Of course, of course." Bianchi stood aside to let him in, using the opportunity to cast a surreptitious look after him. It seemed he was either alone or had left any escorts safely out of sight. It could have been either, knowing him. "Can I get you something to drink?"

"That would be very kind of you." He removed his hat and stood in her living room. He was probably taking it all in, from the shabbiness of the furniture to the mess Bianchi couldn't be bothered to keep up with, but he gave no sign of it, bless his polite heart.

Bianchi whisked a stack of magazines off the easy chair and kicked the laundry basket away from it, glad that the clothes in it were at least clean, if unfolded. "Here, have a seat. I'll be right back."

"Don't go to any trouble on my account."

Bianchi kept her eyeroll to herself and ducked into the kitchen nook. She was due a run to the store, but there was a box of crackers in the cupboard and some cheese left. Those went on a plate. It was still a little early in the day for it, but she broke into the beer she'd been saving since she remembered that Uncle Stefano always had been fond of a good stout.

And it was that or the last dregs of a bottle of apple juice—or water.

He was still standing when she returned to him, looking at the corkboard where she'd tacked the things she'd liked or wanted to keep. There were pictures there, a shot of Tsuna and Hayato and Yamamoto together (Tsuna flailing, Hayato on the verge of barfing, and Yamamoto laughing his fool head off at the both of them), shots of Namimori, and one of Dino and Hibari in the middle of beating the crap out of each other that she'd particularly liked. There was a shot of Reborn wearing one of the costumes he'd used to get Tsuna's attention that he'd only allowed her to keep because his face was obscured by the enormous mustache and the brim of the Stetson, and a couple of ticket stubs, a collection of postcards, and a note that Hayato had written, the first that he'd ever addressed to his neesan.

The whole display was silly; it didn't really belong on view. Bianchi cleared her throat, embarrassed, but when Stefano turned away from it, his smile was gentle and gave no sign of what he thought. "What brings you out this way?"

He accepted the glass of beer and took the seat she'd cleared for him. "Oh, it's been a while since I've seen you, kiddo."

Bianchi bent over the couch to clear a space on it, letting her hair fall forward to cover her expression. "And you were in the neighborhood and thought you'd stop by?" She wasn't going to feel guilty about how long it'd been. He wasn't really her uncle—it was just custom and history that she called him that, a distant connection on the family tree, and the fact that he'd always had time for a little girl's questions—oh, damn it.

"That was some of it, yes." Stefano smiled at her when she sat and finally looked at him again. "There's some other stuff, too, but tell me how you've been first. All the news we ever get of you is secondhand."

"That's not all my fault," Bianchi said, though not without a squirm of guilt.

"I never said it was." He shrugged. "I'd just like to fix that." He tipped his head at the wall. "So tell me about Japan. Was it nice? I've never been."

"It was... different, I guess." Strange, at first, living in a place where the language wasn't her own and the customs were all different, with so few people who were familiar around. Freeing, too, to be able to just be Bianchi there, Hayato's sister and Reborn's weird girlfriend (hah!), without the kids knowing any better—and anyone who knew differently wouldn't have said a word.

"Yeah?" Uncle Stefano smiled at her, encouraging. "So tell me about it."

So Bianchi did, slowly at first, choosing her words carefully as she described Namimori and its people. That required a description of Tsuna; she began to gather speed and enthusiasm then, summing up how Tsuna was by telling Stefano about his people, how good he was at finding them and fixing the places in them that were crushed. She segued into talking about Hayato almost without thinking about it, because no one was a better example of what Tsuna could do than her brother.

Stefano listened attentively, sipping his beer, eyes crinkled up with his smiles. There was no doubt that he would take what he gleaned from her descriptions back to her father, but Bianchi was fairly sure she wasn't giving anything about Tsuna away that they wouldn't all find out sooner or later. When Bianchi finally wound down, he nodded. "It sounds as though the Vongola will be passing into good hands." He took a final drink that drained the glass and then gave Bianchi a look that was blue and direct. "But you haven't told me how _you_ are."

"I'm fine," Bianchi said, caught off balance. Jesus Christ, she'd forgotten how persistently sneaky Uncle Stefano was. He certainly didn't seem to buy it; he kept looking at her, waiting. "I mean, business is a little slow right now. No one wants to commit to anything before the Cetrulli thing shakes out, but you know. I get by."

"Bianchi," he said, softly, and that was all.

She looked away from him. "I don't know what you want to hear."

"I want to know how you are." He said it kindly; she could almost believe that it was the genuine truth. Maybe it was, though it wasn't likely to be the whole truth.

"I told you, I'm fine. Why wouldn't I be?"

She heard him sigh. "Well, if that's the way you want it." He clicked his tongue, sounding sorry about it. "I need to talk to you about something, kiddo. Will you hear me out before you get angry? As a favor to me?"

Bianchi countered the question with one of her own. "Did my father send you?"

Uncle Stefano shook his head. "No. I'm here on my own." His smile was rueful. "You probably won't believe that, but I promise you, he thinks I've taken the afternoon off to pay a visit to a certain young lady friend of mine, not you."

"You're disgusting, Uncle Stefano." Bianchi couldn't help smiling anyway.

His answering grin crinkled up his eyes and showed all his teeth, including the gold one that he had a half dozen different stories to explain. "No, I'm just shameless." Then he sobered. "Will you hear me out?"

Bianchi took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "Yeah, okay. Because it's you who's asking." She owed him that much, at least, things with her father be damned.

"Okay." Stefano put his glass down and folded his hands across his stomach, all traces of laughter and sly humor set aside. "We need you to come home, kiddo. The Family needs you pretty bad right now."

"I've already heard it, Uncle Stefano." She said it as calmly as she could manage, despite the knife-stab of her disappointment.

He just looked at her, eyes sober. "But do you know why?"

"Because there's no way Hayato can do it now, and my father needs someone he can marry off to whomever he expects to follow after him." Bianchi shrugged. "And I _don't care_. I really don't." The Falco would take care of itself without her, just fine.

Stefano ignored the last bit of her explanation. "Kiddo, we need you pretty bad." He leaned forward, hands dangling between his knees and expression as grave as she'd ever seen it. "Your father is dying."

Bianchi began to refuse automatically, before what he'd actually said sank in. "I don't—what?" She stared at him then, blinking. "He's—he can't be. He looked fine when I saw him." This wasn't the way it was supposed to go, not at all.

"I'm afraid he is." Stefano settled back in his seat and passed a hand over his face. "It's cancer. Started in—well, it got started and then it spread, and he's stubborn about it. He's under treatment, but it's not looking good. That's what the doctors say, anyway."

Bianchi had seen him in many moods before, but she'd never seen him look like he was helpless before. All in all, she thought distantly, she could have done without the experience. "He didn't say anything."

"He's a real idiot when it comes to you kids." Uncle Stefano managed a crooked smile. "Never has quite understood what it is you two need to know."

Which was indisputably God's own truth. Jesus Christ. Bianchi drained her glass without really thinking about it, trying to fit what Stefano was telling her with what she'd thought she'd known—it wasn't supposed to happen this way, damn it all. "How long?"

"Hard to say. It goes away and then it comes back, and then the doctors try something new. Could be a few months. Could be a few years." He managed to sound dispassionate about it, and Bianchi wondered how much it was costing him. "This is why we need you, kiddo. You're still a Falco, even if your father handled things like an idiot. Your Family needs you right now." He sighed. "Not least because the Macrini are sniffing around like they know we're in trouble. Fucking Macrini."

"Fucking Macrini," Bianchi echoed. It had the weight of ritual and long habit behind it. The fucking Macrini _would_, like the jackals they were. "Fuck."

"I can't force you to come home," Uncle Stefano said. "There are things we could try, maybe, but if there's one thing I know about you, it's that you won't do anything unless you've decided to do it yourself. We could drag you home, I guess, but we wouldn't be able to keep you. So I'm asking you instead. Please, baby girl. We need you."

"Jesus, Uncle Stefano. You don't play fair." The fucking Macrini; she'd been nearly ten before she'd realized that their name wasn't Fuckinmacrini. The feud between the Falco and the fucking Macrini was so old that no one entirely understood where it had come from anymore, not that anyone really cared. And she knew what a good boss and a good Family ought to be, and the Macrini didn't have either.

Bianchi leaned forward, burying her face in her palms and trying to think. Her father was sick—dying—and the Falco needed her, and the fucking Macrini were at the door. And that was bad, that was a catastrophe when any potential half-siblings weren't even on the horizon and no one else would know enough to look for them.

Funny. She'd thought she'd burned all the loyalty to the Falco out of her. Who would have thought that the fucking Macrini would be what it would take to prove that she hadn't? Christ. "I need a couple days," she said. "I've got—things. Business to wrap up." A thought occurred to her then. "Does Hayato know?"

"No." The relief was so thick in Stefano's voice that Bianchi could have touched it with her bare hands. "No one knows, other than me and Giancarlo and the doctors. And now you."

Bianchi raised her head. "Not even Davide Conti?"

Stefano's expression was bland as porridge. "Why should he know?"

"Everyone I've talked to says my father treats him like a son." Although, come to think of it, if that were so, it meant the old goat deliberately kept crucial information from the poor bastard—Jesus Christ. "The general consensus is that he'll be the next Falco boss."

Stefano lifted a shoulder. "People say a lot of things. Doesn't make 'em right."

Great. There was probably someone else in line instead. Bianchi shook her head to clear it; she'd worry about that later. "Someone should tell Hayato." The delicate quality of Uncle Stefano's answering silence made her grimace. "Okay, _I'll_ tell him."

"You're probably the closest one of any of us, " he murmured. Well, she couldn't dispute that. "How long would you like?"

Bianchi thought about it. "Give me a week." A week would let her pack up what she needed and close out her accounts and untangle herself from Dino—oh, Jesus. Dino.

Uncle Stefano nodded, apparently oblivious to the sudden pit in Bianchi's stomach. "A week." He reached into a pocket and produced a card. "Give me a call when you're ready and we'll come for you."

Bianchi rose when he did and took the card automatically. "Sure," she said, and then found herself being folded into his wiry arms. "Uncle Stefano—"

"Shh," he said. "Permit an old man to be sentimental."

Bianchi wasn't sure that was all there was to it, but it wasn't worth resisting. After a moment, she put her arms around him to return the hug. "I'll call," she said when he finally released her.

"Do that," he said, and let her see him out.

* * *

Hayato took the news in stony silence, his cigarette burning down between his fingers, until he moved and the ash fell away from it. "Should've realized something was up," he said when he finally spoke.

"That's kind of what I thought myself." Bianchi took a drink of her beer and glanced sideways at him, but she couldn't read anything off his face. He'd gotten better at keeping his reactions to himself. Not surprising, considering.

"Well, shit." He tapped the ash off his cigarette and took a drag, looking off into space at something only he could see. "Now what are we supposed to do?" It didn't seem like the kind of question that needed a response, so Bianchi didn't say anything. Hayato took it as one anyway, because he lowered his gaze and looked at her. "You've decided, huh?"

"Yeah." Bianchi took another drink of her beer. "If it weren't for the fucking Macrini, I'd say fuck it." Probably. Fuck. So many plans and assumptions fallen to pieces now. So much for those, when someone was going to have to hold the fucking Macrini off.

Hayato gave a look she couldn't quite read. "Are you really okay with that?"

"I don't really have a choice, do I? I'm gonna go, and it'll be... well, I'll manage. Somehow." Just going didn't mean she'd agreed to do anything other than be a visible presence. And it wouldn't have to be for very long, she thought. Just a few months till the pressure eased off her.

"Mm." Hayato looked away from her again, giving her no sign of what that pregnant little syllable might mean. "You don't have to do this."

"I think I kind of do." Bianchi leaned back, sprawling against the squashy embrace of her couch and draining her beer. "It's not like I have a lot of choice."

"Maybe." Hayato stubbed out his cigarette and didn't look at her. When he spoke again, his tone was measured out and careful. "I know some people. I could get you papers. The good kind."

"Shit, Hayato. I know those people too." He flinched and Bianchi gentled her tone. "That's no kind of life. Believe me, I thought about it already." Had thought about it, and hadn't been able to stomach the thought of walking away from all the things in her life that she did like.

He focused on his hands, playing with his pack of cigarettes and watching it revolve in his fingers. "Let me know if you change your mind."

It was kindly meant, so Bianchi sighed. "Yeah. I will." Then she forced her tones into lighter registers. "Anyway, probably won't be too bad, you know? I mean, God knows this isn't the first time something like this has happened. Won't be the last, either."

"It might be." Hayato did look up then; his eyes were dark and hard. "I'll talk to the Tenth. He won't stand for it."

And no, Tsuna probably wouldn't, at that, because he was dedicated to chasing what was right and fair and ignoring all the costs. Bianchi considered the idea for a moment and then shook her head. "He's got enough windmills to tilt at. He's gotta leave something for the next generation, you know."

Hayato studied her; his shoulders dropped. "You really have made up your mind."

"Yeah. It's got to be done."

"Mm." Hayato drew a cigarette out of the package and lit up, drawing in a lungful of smoke and exhaling it in a stream. "Well. Guess if Conti turns out to be a bastard, he could come down with food poisoning."

"That's not funny," Bianchi snapped.

Hayato's smile was tilted and a little fey. "Who said I was joking?" He tipped his head at her. "Wouldn't be the first time something like that'd happened, either."

"I'll take that under advisement," Bianchi said, after a moment, because it had been kindly meant, too. Food poisoning, God. As if she could get away with that when she'd used it once before. It wouldn't be subtle enough.

There was a lot she could do with food allergies, though. It was worth thinking about—never mind.

"Yeah, do that." Hayato's smile was still fey. "It's good to have a backup plan."

And Bianchi couldn't really argue with that.

* * *

"You're quiet tonight."

Dino said it mildly, without censure and with only the faintest curiosity edging it. Bianchi felt herself wince anyway. But it was a good opening. "Yeah." She sighed and shifted against him, resting her cheek against his shoulder. "I need to tell you something, but you need to be just Dino and not the head of the Cavallone for it."

His chest rose and fell under hers and his breath stirred her hair. "As long as you're not plotting our secret downfall or anything."

Bianchi snorted at him. "No. But it's not public knowledge."

"Now you've got me curious. Okay. I'll keep it to myself." His voice turned gently teasing. "Now what is it?"

"My father is dying." She said it as matter-of-factly as she could manage.

Dino sucked in a breath; the sound of it was sharp between his teeth. "Oh," he said. And then, in quite a different tone, he said, "_Oh_." Bianchi gathered herself for his questions, but he only curled his arms around her more securely. "Are you okay?"

He asked it gently and held her carefully, like she was going to fall to pieces against him. The novelty of it was disconcerting. "I'm—" Bianchi stopped herself and thought about it more carefully. "I'm a little fucked up about it, actually."

Dino carded his fingers through her hair. The gesture felt nice. Comforting. "Yeah?"

"I'm upset that I'm not upset, really. I should be feeling something, right?" Something besides irritation. Something besides the fact that she'd had plans and this had disrupted them completely.

"Hm." Dino sighed. "Maybe? I was mostly just relieved when my father finally got it over and done with, so I'm not the best person to ask."

There was that, she supposed. Casimiro Cavallone hadn't exactly been a model of paternal or even boss-like behavior. And he'd certainly left his son a mess to clean up. "At least we're a matched set."

"We could split therapy sessions." Dino snorted at himself. "Or just let Reborn kick our asses and tell us to get over it."

"That's more likely, yeah." Bianchi sighed. Now for the really hard part. "I talked to Uncle Stefano. He was the one who told me."

"Uncle... Stefano...?" Dino echoed, sounding puzzled. "You don't mean Stefano Lupicini, do you?" His tone had turned faintly shocked. "The Saint?"

"Mm, he was always just Uncle Stefano to me." His other duties for her father had never really intruded on the way he'd been willing to play with her, except for maybe how he'd taught her to shoot straight.

"Jesus Christ. You're absolutely terrifying, you know that?" It could have been an insult, but Dino sounded too genuinely awed for her to take it that way.

"Hitmen are people, too," Bianchi reminded him. "Even the really good ones."

"I guess so." Dino still sounded impressed. "So, um. What did the Saint have to say?"

"My father's dying and the fucking Macrini smell the blood in the water." Bianchi kept her voice steady, trying to turn it into a simple report and nothing more. "I really do have to go home." If the Falco's people were already nervous, the Macrini would just make it worse.

Dino sucked in a quick breath, but didn't do more than that, not immediately. Bianchi almost wished she could see his face and could try to figure out what he was thinking, but maybe it was better not to see it coming. Who could say?

Then his fingers curled around the point of her shoulder. "When are you going?" His voice was quiet, very nearly calm, but that was nothing more than a veneer over something rougher.

"I have a week." More time than she really needed, but not really enough when weighed against the balance of other things.

"A week." Dino's chest rose and fell under hers once again as he sighed. "That's... not much."

"No. No, it's really not."

Dino was silent for several heartbeats. Then he said, "We'll have to make it count, then."

Bianchi had to close her eyes and steady herself before she could say, "Yeah, I guess we will." It was only a fling, anyway, right? It would have come to an end eventually. This was just sooner rather than later.

And perhaps, if things went well... perhaps they could pick up where they'd left off, once she'd gotten things with the Falco settled down.

* * *

Bianchi propped herself up on her elbow to look at Dino. "You don't have much to say tonight."

He had to drag his thoughts back from wherever they'd gone; she watched him blink and turn his eyes to her with a wry smile. "Sorry. Just thinking."

"If you can manage that, I did something wrong." Bianchi injected as much innuendo into that as she could manage.

Dino didn't take the bait. "No," he said, raising a hand to her face and rubbing his thumb along her cheek. "No, it's business things."

"The Cizeta?" Bianchi guessed, since he'd had to meet with them again, if she was remembering his schedule properly.

"No, they're fine." Dino made a face and turned his eyes back to the ceiling. "I think we've got all that business sorted out now. They're taking the east, I'm taking the west. All it really needs is someone to manage the market there. Should even out in a year or so."

And if he said that, it surely would. He had a real knack for predicting the ebb and flow of market forces. That offhand comment probably meant that Dino's share of the market would even out in a year, be working at a profit in two, and be raking in money in three.

And it still didn't explain the wrinkle between Dino's eyebrows. Bianchi laid a fingertip against it, smoothing it out and smiling when he crossed his eyes, trying to see what she was doing. "So tell me about what's worrying you." That was only fair, considering how he'd listened to her woes.

Dino smiled at her, apologetic. "It's nothing interesting. There's just something going on with some of my people. Some kind of feud over who actually owns the land that two different families have been farming. I'm trying to figure out how to settle it with the fewest ruffled feathers possible."

"I never realized being a boss was so glamorous."

"It's not all fast cars and loose women," Dino said, grave, though his eyes were laughing just a bit. "Any boss who forgets that won't stay a boss for very long."

"I suppose," Bianchi murmured, though she wondered about that, really. There were plenty of bosses who didn't seem to give much of a damn where their power came from.

"No, really." Dino looked serious. "If you don't take care of your Family, there's no point in what you do. Your Family is the most important thing of all."

He looked so earnest about it that Bianchi smiled in spite of herself. "Reborn's students are such idealists." She slid her fingers into his hair. "I wonder how he manages that."

"Reborn is an idealist, too." Dino chuckled. "Very deep down. Where he doesn't let anyone else see it."

"That must be it. I always wondered."

"He has a reputation, you know," Dino intoned, and then ruined the effect by snickering. "He's got the urge to shoot me right now, and he doesn't even know why."

Bianchi laughed too, and let Dino draw her back down to him. "I think Reborn has the urge to shoot most people, just on general principles."

Dino stroked his hand down her back, fingers tracing over each bump of her spine. "Probably, yes. He doesn't suffer stupidity gladly. And his bar for what constitutes stupidity is, uh. Really low." He sucked in a breath through his teeth. "Why _did_ we decide he was a good choice for training people?"

"Mm," Bianchi said, distracted by the way his hand was curving around her ass, kneading it thoughtfully. "He gets results. Just look at you." She'd been just old enough to grasp what it had meant when her father had shaken his head over the hopelessness of the Cavallone boy, and some of the transformation itself. And no one could say that Dino wasn't still improving, though maybe not as rapidly as he once had.

He looked startled at the compliment, nonetheless. "Thank you." He smiled at her, almost shyly.

"Credit where credit is due." Bianchi leaned over and kissed the uncertain corners of his mouth, slowly, until the line of it had relaxed and his lips opened to hers. She draped herself against him, savoring the feel of his hands running through her hair and down her body. He was slower to rouse this time; they both were, so Bianchi relaxed into the languor of it: the taste of Dino's skin, salt and musk and the last traces of his aftershave and cologne; the texture of his palms as they moved over her body, finding the places where he knew she liked to be touched, until Bianchi arched and sighed over him, feeling like she was going to melt into him. Then she did, when he finally pressed her to him, spreading her thighs across his and rolling up into her. Bianchi tasted the sounds he made as they moved against each other, letting the momentum of it build slowly until they were both gasping and trembling with it. She broke first, swept under at last by the shape of her name on his lips and the slow grind of his hips against hers, moaning with the way the waves of it ran through her, endlessly slow.

Dino said her name again after, when they'd settled against each other in the drowsy aftermath, and spread his fingertips against her jaw. His voice was soft. "Bianchi, I—"

"Don't." Bianchi set her fingers against his lips. "Don't say that."

He didn't ask why not; he knew as well as she did that it wasn't a good idea. Instead he sighed softly and kissed her fingertips. "If you'd rather I didn't."

"It's already hard enough." Bianchi looked away from the directness of his gaze and settled against his shoulder. "I knew this was a terrible idea from the start."

"It hasn't been all bad, has it?" His fingers settled in her hair, not playing with it for once, just a warm and reassuring weight.

"It hasn't been bad at all." Bianchi hated herself a little for the unsteadiness in her voice. "That's the worst part. Can we not talk about this?"

"Yeah," Dino said. "We can do that."

Bianchi closed her eyes and pressed her face against his throat, and did her best to avoid thinking about tomorrow.

* * *

Dino lasted halfway through his first cup of coffee before saying anything. "Damn it," he said, right in the middle of Bianchi's description of how she would deal with the Cetrulli if left to her own devices. Bianchi stopped talking, rather relieved that she didn't have to pretend that things were normal any more. Dino put his coffee down and dug his fingers into his hair, completely disordering it. "This is _stupid_," he said, despairing. "You should marry me. Would you marry me? We can elope. Monaco is nice this time of year."

"I can't marry you," Bianchi said after squashing the first desperate impulse to say _yes_. "You know I can't. Or you can't marry me. Either way, it won't work."

"What God hath put together?" Dino said it mournfully, though he was giving her a hopeful look.

"A war between the Cavallone and the Falco wouldn't be good, either for the Cavallone or the Falco." Bianchi looked away from him, down at the croissant she was tearing to pieces. "We can't be that selfish."

"I _want_ to be. Just this once, I want to be." His voice was savage. "What good is being the boss if you can't be selfish once in a while?"

"Being a boss means serving your Family, not the other way around." Bianchi swept the remains of her croissant into a sad little pile. "I wasn't even boss material, but I learned that much."

"You could be the boss. You have the right. More right than Conti does."

"The Falco would never accept me." Bianchi destroyed the pile of crumbs and then swept it back together again. "They know I left the Family. They know I don't want to come back."

"They know it was because of your father." When she looked up, Dino's mouth was set. "They know you left for a reason. If you came back, determined to set things right—"

"I would still have to deal with my father's men and my father himself." Bianchi drew a breath and shook her head at Dino. "It won't work." Even if she was right and she'd be able to avoid getting trapped into a marriage she _didn't_ want during the process of keeping the Falco together and getting her father to do his damn duty, it wouldn't be the same again after. Fuck.

He slumped in his seat. "I hate this."

"I do, too." Bianchi forced herself to stop playing with the crumbs and looked away from him, out across the bay and the sunlight on the water, and the white sails on the boats. "Don't take this the wrong way, but I really wish I'd never met you."

"Yeah." Dino cleared his throat. "Yeah, the feeling is mutual."

Bianchi drew a breath, and then another, and then took a long drink of hot coffee, swallowing the bitterness down. "Well," she said, finally letting herself look at Dino again, who was still slumped in his chair, miserable. "I should get going."

"Yeah." Dino's voice was hollow. Neither of them moved, until Bianchi rose from her seat. He rose too and caught her hand. "If you need anything, tell me. Anything at all."

"I will," Bianchi promised, knowing that he would recognize the lie for what it was. She gripped his fingers. "Maybe you should go to Monaco," she told him. "Take a vacation. Get your mind off things."

"I'll think about it." It was every bit as much of a lie as her promise had been.

"Do that." Bianchi looked at him. "Well. I guess this is goodbye."

"Yeah," Dino said, looking at her.

She went to him when he pulled her close and opened her mouth to his, wrapping her arms around his shoulders and holding him tightly as his mouth shaped words against hers, syllables she forbade herself to recognize and knew anyway, recognizing them in her bones.

Bianchi forced herself to be the one who pulled away first. "Take care of yourself, Dino," she said when she did.

"You too," Dino said, hoarse.

Bianchi permitted herself one final look at him before steeling herself and walking away.

She did not let herself look back.


	2. Chapter 2

Notes appear in the first chapter.

**

* * *

**

**Part Two**

When she called, Stefano came himself and brought a truck and two of her father's men with him. Bianchi, who'd only bothered with packing a bag of clothes and a bag of mementoes, blinked at them in some astonishment. Uncle Stefano just peered at her two bags and laughed. "Still know how to travel light, don't you?"

"It's the only way to move fast," she retorted, and maintained her grip when one of the men Stefano had brought with him tried to relieve her of them.

"So it is, so it is. Still." Stefano clapped his hands together. "No sense in leaving it behind you if you don't have to. Change of plans, boys. You two stay here and pack the rest of it up and follow along when you can."

"But—" one of them started, giving Bianchi a look that clearly said, _What about her?_

"Don't you worry your pretty little head, Marco." Stefano's smile wreathed his face and showed all his teeth. "Ms. Bianchi and I can take care of ourselves."

Marco gave Bianchi another doubtful look, but bowed to Uncle Stefano's force of personality while she ground her teeth and resisted the urge to start off her homecoming by poisoning one of her father's men. "You don't have to bother with the furniture. It came with the apartment."

"See, boys? Life is better already, isn't it?" Stefano beamed at them. "Try not to take all day with it, then."

They left the two of them to it and descended the stairs to the street. Uncle Stefano had parked in an alley; Bianchi snorted at the black and yellow lines of the car. "Your car looks like a bee."

He regarded it fondly, patting its roof. "I know. Adorable, isn't it?"

"Has anyone ever told you that you have peculiar tastes?" Bianchi stowed her bags in the trunk herself while he stood back.

"My dear, when you've reached the age I have, you will realize that there's no point in not enjoying the things you like, and you'll let the world go hang, too." He did hold the door for her—front passenger side, at least, and not the back seat—and Bianchi slid in.

Bianchi rolled her eyes. "And being the Saint has nothing to do with it, of course."

He settled himself behind the wheel, smiling like a cat, sleek and self-satisfied. "There are some compensations to having a reputation. But you know that." He started up the engine and patted the wheel. "All buckled in?"

"Yes," she said, because she remembered how he drove.

"Good, good."

Bianchi didn't say anything while he maneuvered them out of town, letting him concentrate on driving while she focused on not cringing as he wove in and out of traffic, squeaking through openings that hadn't actually seemed possible before he'd tried for them. When they finally hit open road, she unclenched her fingers from the death grip she'd had on the door, mustered all her composure, and said, "What can you tell me about the Family's status, Uncle Stefano?"

He hummed between his teeth, something that sounded like approval. "I haven't told Luciano to expect you today. I thought you might like to have the advantage of surprising him."

It was a gift of sorts, one that he probably oughtn't to have offered, given his oaths to her father. Bianchi inclined her head. "I do. Thank you."

"Don't mention it." He watched the road ahead of them, smile falling away. "For the moment, we're stable. Business is going well enough, although people are starting to wonder a little about where the Falco are going now that young Hayato's gone in with the Vongola. Your mother hasn't been home in years, you realize."

So far, so good: nothing she hadn't already known. "Like I'm going to blame her." Costanza Falco had earned the right to drift from resort to resort for the rest of her life as far as Bianchi was concerned, though perhaps it would have been nice to have had more contact with her over the years.

Stefano just laughed, dry. "Save it for someone else, kiddo. You know I'm not going to cast aspersions." He tapped his fingers against the wheel. "We do have a girl coming out to the house a few times a week. You'll probably like her. She's got a good head on her shoulders."

"My father's mistress?" Bianchi raised her eyebrows. "Really? Be serious."

"Don't be silly. Luciano hasn't looked at another woman since Haruka." Stefano deftly guided the car around another and sent them hurtling around a curve in the road. "It just makes people happy to think he might have finally taken another mistress. Mostly they play chess and talk."

"Pity," Bianchi murmured. "It would be easier if he _would_ have taken a mistress." Easier on the Family, easier on her... easier on everyone, really. God, he really needed to get with the program.

"You don't have to tell me that. Giancarlo and I have been telling him that for years now." Stefano sighed. "But there wasn't anything for it, you know. He never has gotten over Haruka. Love is cruel."

Bianchi stared out the window at the countryside blurring past them. "Yes, I suppose it is." She couldn't help how curt that was. "Now tell me more about the Family in general, please?"

"As you like." He was quiet for a moment. "As I said, things are currently stable, though people are worried about the lack of an heir. It will help that you're coming home."

There was a peculiar undercurrent in his voice. Bianchi looked away from the window, but his expression wasn't giving anything away. "You don't sound convinced."

"I suppose I don't." Stefano frowned at the road ahead of them. "You did not hear this from me."

"Of course I didn't."

"Good girl." Uncle Stefano sucked on his teeth and guided them around a slow-moving truck before he finally said, "You remember what happened to the Linardon, of course."

Who didn't remember that? "Fucking Macrini." It was one part reflex and one part because the way the fucking Macrini had taken the Linardon apart really had been that appalling.

"Just so." Stefano's fingers did a dance against the wheel, staccato and arrhythmic. "We took the twins in. They're good boys, both of them, but I would rather not give the Falco into their hands, just the same. They aren't _ours_."

Bianchi had to take a breath, and then another, staggered. "When you say the twins, you mean—"

"The Linardon twins, yes." His tone was carefully bland. "Though we don't call them that any more." He glanced at her, eyes sharp. "No one knows this."

"Shit." Bianchi settled lower in her seat, barely noticing the way the car hurtled around another with only bare centimeters to spare, assimilating this new information. The Linardon twins, still alive and well despite the destruction of their Family. "What do you mean, give the Falco to them?" Surely her father wouldn't—

"Luciano is fond of them, and they _have_ served us well. I still don't believe that he should marry you to Davide just to have someone to follow after him. It's not _right_." Stefano was actually scowling at the road now, but then, he was a Falco man born and bred, kin from a few generations back. He wouldn't think it right.

Bianchi let her head fall back against the headrest, closed her eyes, and ran through all the curse words she knew. Uncle Stefano let her, and only murmured a correction for her pronunciation when she started in on the Russian. Finally, she opened her eyes again and glanced at him. "Has he lost his damn mind?"

"Not exactly." His jaw was set. "But he wants a son badly."

"He _has_ a son. He just fucked it up."

"You're not going to get me to argue with you there." Uncle Stefano shook his head. "He never was good at listening to advice on that front."

"No kidding." Bianchi pinched the bridge of her nose. "Shit." This changed things even more than finding out that the old goat was dying had. Her prospective fiancé wasn't even really a Falco man. This was going to take even more straightening out than she'd feared. "Okay. Tell me about Davide."

"He's not a bad kid," Stefano began. Bianchi wasn't sure whether that was a good sign or a bad one. "Like I said, he does well by the Falco. He's sharp—well, both of them are, really. They make good underbosses for us, and they're good men, but I just..." His voice trailed off and he sighed. "It's not right." He shook his head. "And your father should know better than to have settled on young Davide when we all know he's besotted with his Alessia."

"Oh, for fuck's sweet sake." Bianchi groaned and rubbed her forehead. "Just how well does he think _that_ will work?"

"Better than it will with Gervasio." Stefano's mouth quirked. "That one doesn't know how to appreciate a pretty lady."

Great. One was gay and the other was already in love. And neither of them were really Falco men. Yeah, nothing but happiness there. _Shit._

"It's good that you're coming home."

"It's not like you left me much choice." Bianchi grimaced, but some of the bitterness had gone out of it. He hadn't been exaggerating when he'd said that the Falco needed her.

"It's still good," he insisted. "Things will go better now."

"You're superstitious, Uncle Stefano." But there was something there... something she could use, maybe, to get out of this whole mess and get things back on track, if she had the balls for it. Bianchi chewed on her lip, thinking fast.

"You're too young to be so cynical," he retorted.

It could work. As a delaying tactic, if nothing else. "If you're not cynical, you're not paying attention." When he just rolled his eyes, Bianchi changed the subject. "What else should I know?"

After all, one couldn't make good plans without good data.

They passed the remainder of the drive that way; Uncle Stefano gave her concise descriptions of the Falco's internal factions and their constituents and how they were balanced against each other—carefully, from the sounds of it, so much so that it gave Bianchi a headache to think about. It sounded worse than the Tomasso job, where a misstep would have blown her cover and gotten her killed.

Saying as much to Stefano just earned her a wolfish grin. "Don't be silly, kiddo. This is where it gets fun."

He had bad hobbies, but he only laughed when she told him so.

They pulled into the long drive that led to the main house much sooner than Bianchi was ready for, but he didn't pull in at the front door. He guided the car around back instead and parked in the garage. When she looked at him, eyebrows raised, he chuckled. "Family doesn't have to go through the front door."

"That's what you think." Bianchi took a deep breath as he cut the engine. "Well. Let's get this show on the road."

He got the door and the trunk for her, but let her sling the duffel over her shoulder and carry the other bag herself. Bianchi appreciated the gesture, even though the weight of the bags dragged at her shoulders, and let him lead her inside, up through the back ways of the house—the domain of the staff and the men and women who served the Falco. No one spared Bianchi more than a passing glance, though Uncle Stefano earned a few smirks and raised eyebrows, which he ignored.

It seemed a bit lax to Bianchi, purely on professional grounds, though it wasn't any of her business—except, she reminded herself, it was now.

She set that thought aside to deal with later, when she had the time to come to terms with it, and came to a stop at Stefano's heels outside her father's office. When Stefano knocked, the sound of her father's voice was irritated. "_What?_"

Uncle Stefano didn't seem to be deterred by that; he pushed the door open and sauntered in. "Special delivery for you, Boss."

Bianchi held her chin a little higher and straightened her spine a little more as she stepped inside the room.

It still smelled of tobacco and smoke and the deep leather of the chairs and the dusty smell of paper in the sunshine.

"Stefano, now is not the time—" her father began, before he looked up, and stopped when he saw Bianchi.

She met his stare as evenly as she could, holding herself tall and reminding herself that she was an adult and she had _chosen_ this, damn it, and would not change her mind now. That wasn't easy, not when just standing in his office made her feel like she was eight years old all over again, so Bianchi focused on examining her father's face instead. She hadn't noticed how much older he looked at Tsuna's reception. He looked tired, with more grey in his hair, and there was surprise on his face, mixed with a measure of relief. She couldn't see any pleasure there, but perhaps relief was enough to be going on for now.

"What's this?" he said, after a moment of mutual scrutiny.

"I'm back." The bags she was carrying ought to have been a sign of that, but perhaps they had to begin the conversation somewhere. "The Falco need me, so here I am."

Surprise moved over her father's face again. "Really," he drawled. "I thought you said you'd rather die than ever come home again."

"You never told me that the fucking Macrini were at the door."

Her father's eyes cut away from hers; Uncle Stefano coughed. "It's true, Boss." He almost managed to sound apologetic. "You catch more flies with honey."

Bianchi waited till her father was looking at her again. "Yeah, it's kind of funny how well I respond to being reasoned with instead of being ordered around." That one struck home, at least if the faint flicker of his expression was any measure. "But I suppose that never occurred to you."

"Most people do respond to direct orders from the heads of their Families."

Bianchi dropped her bags inside the door and closed it, using the moment when her face was turned away from his to gather up her self-control and hold it firmly. "Yes, but I'm not most people." She came away from the door and took one of the chairs that stood in front of her father's broad desk.

If she tried hard enough, she could almost think that this was the opening gambit of a job—the part where she and a prospective employer sized each other up and negotiated their terms. "I've been living without a Family for almost ten years, if you'll recall."

Her father's frown etched itself around his mouth and eyes. "And I suppose that's all my fault?"

"Some of it." Bianchi shrugged. "I chose to leave, and you were the one who said I couldn't call myself a Falco if I did." Her palms were damp, but she forced her voice to stay calm. "And no one leaves home to turn freelance hitman when the conditions at home are tolerable."

That one hit home, too, judging by the way his expression turned darker. "You don't know—"

Stefano coughed again, quietly. "Boss."

There were all kinds of layers there. Bianchi didn't know what they were, but it was enough to make her father inhale through his nose and fold his lips together tightly, and not finish the statement he'd begun. "That's long since over with," he said after a moment in which he was clearly struggling with something. Himself, perhaps.

Bianchi chose not to dispute that. "Yes, I suppose it is." She lifted her chin a little. Time to see how well she could bluff. "So, anyway. I'm here. You'd better start planning the inheritance ceremony. The sooner we get that out of the way, the better."

Both of her father's eyebrows went up, while Uncle Stefano made a choked sound that Bianchi suspected of being a stifled laugh. "Inheritance ceremony?"

"Yes." Bianchi kept her voice as crisp and professional as she knew how to make it. "I'm going to be your heir, since you seem to have run out of other candidates. We should make that official, the sooner the better."

Uncle Stefano was grinning outright and her father was simply staring. "What in God's name makes you think that?"

"The fact that I'm not going to let you move me around like a pawn on a chess board." Bianchi laced her fingers together and set them on her knee to hide out they wanted to shake. "Maybe I should have been a son, but I'm not. That doesn't mean I'm any less capable than a son might have been. And I will _not_ stand by and let you give the Falco over to the hands of another Family."

Her father stared at her for a long moment before he turned to look at Stefano, who merely shrugged and spread his hands. "She needed to know."

"That wasn't your secret to share." Her father seemed to be speaking from between clenched teeth. "What _else_ did you tell her?"

Uncle Stefano's smile vanished. "Everything." He held up a hand when her father made a strangled sound. "Someone had to do it, and God knows you weren't going to. It's for the sake of the Family, Boss."

For the sake of the Family. It was amazing how magical those words could be, Bianchi mused. They'd brought her back to this place when she'd sworn nothing else could and now they made her father growl and rub his forehead and leave off yelling at Stefano. "You always have presumed too much."

"Just doing my job, Boss. Someone's got to look out for you." Stefano went back to lounging against the sideboard, hands in his pockets, looking genial and harmless.

Her father scrubbed his hands over his face. Several seconds ticked past before he brought himself to look at Bianchi again. When he did, his entire expression was wary. "So you know."

"I do." Bianchi met his gaze squarely. "So does Hayato, but he's given his word not to share it among the Vongola until it becomes common knowledge."

"That's... something, I suppose." His expression was grim. "Let us hope that he can keep that promise."

The very fact that he could question such a thing suggested that he never had understood Hayato very well. Bianchi kept that thought to herself. "He will."

"He'd better." Her father shook his head. "You think you can become my heir, just like that? You don't know anything about this Family, even if you weren't—" He gestured, silently, as if to encompass her essential femininity that way.

"I know enough." Bianchi shrugged. "I've spent the past several years training the Vongola Tenth. I know more than you think I do. And I'll learn the rest."

He snorted. "You can't know enough for this job. No one can."

"All the more reason for it." Stefano shrugged when they both glanced at him. "Well, it's true. Fewer preconceptions going in and all."

So he was on her side. That was an unexpected encouragement. "Precisely," Bianchi said. "And if nothing else, I'm Falco and the only legitimate heir you have. Naming me your successor is better than trying to marry me off and naming that poor schmuck to the job."

Her father rolled his eyes. "And our true motivations emerge."

Bianchi could feel her back stiffen. "Excuse me?"

Her father's smile lacked the good humor that would have warmed it. "The whole countryside knows how you've been carrying on with the Cavallone boy."

"It wasn't supposed to be a secret," she retorted. She drew a breath to steady herself. "Anyway. That's over with now."

"It had better be. You should have had more sense than to begin it in the first place."

"Oh, like _you're_ known for your great common sense in _your_ affairs." Bianchi looked away from him, at the portrait that hung over the mantel. It should have been of her mother. It wasn't.

"That was different." He said it stiffly, enunciating each word clearly.

"Yeah, you were already married. At least—" she nearly said Dino, but that would have surrendered too much information "—Cavallone and I aren't married to other people."

"Yet."

"If you like." Bianchi forced herself to shrug. "It doesn't matter. Like I said, it's over. And I fail to see how that has any bearing on my not wanting to be traded off like a piece of land, just to settle a deal. We're not in the middle ages any more. I can lead the Falco myself and marry where I like."

Her father looked at her for a moment and turned to Stefano. "Were we ever so young?"

Stefano laughed. "Younger, even." He grinned. "It's no bad thing to be young, if you ask me."

"That's because you never did grow up." Her father's gaze returned to her. "I don't have time for this argument right now," he said, finally. "Go see Alfonso and have him get you settled. And do something about your clothes, you can't go around dressed like that if you don't want to scandalize the whole household. We'll talk more at dinner."

Bianchi contemplated being stubborn for two beats and decided it wasn't worth it. "Been a while since my last job."

He took her meaning and rolled his eyes, as if he couldn't believe she'd bring up something so trivial. "You're a Falco. You can draw a line of credit anywhere in town."

"Yeah, okay." And maybe, if he was lucky, she wouldn't take her irritation out on his bank account. Maybe. Bianchi stood. "I'll see you at dinner."

She had reached the door and shouldered her bags before he spoke again—just her name. When she looked back at him, eyebrows raised, he said, "Thank you. For coming home." He said it stiffly, but Bianchi thought he might have actually meant it.

She shrugged at him. "It was for the Family," she told him and went out.

* * *

Alfonso she remembered from her childhood; he was the house's majordomo and ruled the world of the staff with an iron hand. He was a small, fussy man and had his own office not too far from the kitchen where his wife Annette marshaled her own army of cooks against the task of keeping the house fed. Bianchi made her way to Alfonso's office and looked in on him before tapping on the door frame; he seemed to be doing accounts and answered her tap without looking up. "Yes, what is it?"

That briskness was familiar, too; he'd never seemed to have enough hours in the day to get all his work done and was perpetually harried. She cleared her throat. "My father sent me to you. I need a room to stay in."

Bianchi saw his pen stop moving on the paper as he looked up slowly. Then the pen dropped out of his fingers. "Miss Bianchi?" He said it like he couldn't quite believe he was seeing her.

Bianchi found a smile for him that she suspected was a little crooked. "Yeah. I guess I'm back."

She remembered Alfonso as always seeming too busy to smile, but now one split his face and lit his eyes. "You are? This is wonderful!" He sprang out of his chair and came around his desk, positively beaming. "Look at you, all grown up. You're beautiful, just like your mother." He took her hand and gazed at her. "And you're home now?"

"Yeah, I am." The joy seemed a little much to her, but she supposed that Alfonso always had been fond enough of her and Hayato in his own impatient way. "So I'll be needing a room, I suppose."

"A room? No, rooms, surely." He was still beaming at her, patting her hand. "For the boss's daughter, certainly rooms." He seemed to realize, then, that she was holding a pair of bags. "Good Lord, you shouldn't have to be hauling those heavy things around!"

Bianchi tried to protest that she was fine, but he was already calling for someone, one of the staff, and she found herself relieved of the burden before she could protest. Meanwhile Alfonso bustled through his office, unearthing the massive ring of keys that was one of his charges. "Now, do you know which set of rooms you might like?" He picked through the keys busily. "We've kept your old room as you left it—"

Bianchi recalled having gone through an extended phase of pink-and-gilt appreciation. "No, I don't think so." There had been ruffles, too. Extensive ruffles.

"Of course not," Alfonso said, without missing a beat. "You'll want something more appropriate to your age and status."

"I don't really need anything fancy," Bianchi said, rather doubting that it would even register with him. There was really only one bedroom she wanted and it was out of reach now. Still. "Perhaps something that takes the morning sun?"

Alfonso brightened. "The morning sun—yes, I know just the rooms." He found a key. "If you'll come with me, Miss Bianchi?"

"Of course." She let him guide her upstairs while the boy with her bags followed after, staggering a little under the double burden of them. Alfonso talked the whole way, though she could barely follow the things he said about the house and the things that had changed and the others that had remained the same. Most of it seemed unchanged to her eyes: the furniture still looked the same, old and expensive, and the portraits gazed down from the walls indifferently. But Alfonso didn't seem to notice that she wasn't quite attending, or mind, anyway.

Bianchi brought her wandering attention to heel again when they came to the private wing. That had been Hayato's room, and that one had been hers. Both doors were closed, as was the door just a bit further down the corridor. That one had been her mother's, and had been occupied less and less frequently, the older Bianchi had gotten.

And where was Costanza Falco now? The last Bianchi had heard, she'd been in Spain.

Her father's rooms, the boss's rooms, were opposite her mother's. Bianchi could count the number of times she'd been inside them on the fingers of one hand.

Alfonso led them a bit further beyond that and turned down a corridor to the left, bringing them to rooms that hadn't been occupied more than a few times in Bianchi's memory, relics of a time when the Falco's ruling family had been larger. He stopped in front of one and stooped to unlock it. "The emerald suite," he said, and stepped aside to let Bianchi in.

Emerald was accurate enough—the room was done in a deep green the color of grass in the spring, from the velvet of the curtains that could be looped back with gold cords to the carpets spread over honey-blond wood. The walls were creamy pale over the wainscoting. When Alfonso stepped in to whisk the dustcover off a chair, Bianchi saw that the upholstery was the same deep green as the curtains, rich against the golden grain of the wood.

Bianchi moved through the rooms; Alfonso followed her at a discreet distance, quietly. That was just as well; she could see the room's fixtures without his aid. There was the front room with its couch and two chairs circled around a low table; there was another, smaller, room beyond that with a table and chairs and windows that poured in the light when Alfonso opened the drapes. The bedroom opened off that; it was dominated by a bed with more of the emerald velvet shrouding its posts. It had a pair of French doors opening onto a small balcony just large enough for a small wrought-iron table and two matching chairs, and perhaps a few pots of flowers.

There was a bathroom attached to the bedroom; the white tile of it gleamed in comparison to the green of the other rooms. It had an old-fashioned claw-foot bathtub that Bianchi suspected could hold enough water to come to her chin. There was a closet, too, large enough to walk into, and a small boudoir.

The apartment she'd just left could have fit into the suite three times over.

When Bianchi finally emerge from the boudoir, Alfonso had opened all the curtains and the late morning sunlight filled the room. He stood back, hands pressed together, and looked at her, clearly anxious for her response.

Bianchi looked around her; it was a far cry from the white and pale blues of Dino's rooms and the furniture was heavy and old-fashioned. But that all hardly mattered now. "Yes," she said. "This will do nicely."

Alfonso beamed. "I thought so!" He clapped his hands together. "Let me have the girls up to give it a good going over, and then we'll get you unpacked and settled in—"

Good Lord, and he surely meant every word of that. "I'd prefer to unpack my own belongings." She said it quickly, thinking of the personal items buried at the bottom of the duffel. "Please, if you don't mind—I would prefer to arrange things to my own taste."

"Yes, of course, of course." He didn't even bat an eye. "But let me call the girls, and in the meantime we can offer you lunch, and perhaps a tour around the building—or perhaps you would like to sort through the belongings in your old room...?"

It felt peculiar to be catered too so assiduously, as if he were anxious that she should not want for anything. "Actually," Bianchi said. "I thought I might drive into town. I need to update my wardrobe."

Alfonse beamed at her. "I'll order a car for you at once."

It was on the tip of her tongue to say that she'd meant to drive herself, actually, but Bianchi checked herself. There wouldn't be any of that now, not if she was going to be the boss's daughter again. Especially not if she was going to claim the job of boss's heir. She suppressed the urge to sigh. "That would be splendid. Thank you."

* * *

Bianchi didn't know the man who sat behind the wheel of the black sedan with tinted windows that pulled up to the front of the house, nor the man who sat in the front seat next to him, but both of them were large and had the tell-tale lump under their jackets that betrayed the shoulder holsters. She kept her sigh purely internal, because there was no point in protesting having a security detail, either. "And you gentlemen are...?" she inquired after settling into her seat in the back and fastening her belt.

She ignored the glance that they exchanged. The driver spoke first. "I'm Mario. This is Carlo." Carlo muttered something as he was introduced.

"Lovely. I'm Bianchi Falco." There was no time like present to retrain herself into using that name again, though it sat uneasily on her tongue. "A pleasure to meet you both."

They exchanged glances again, this time slightly startled. "You too, Miss Falco," Mario said, and put the car in gear as Carlo rumbled something that was probably an agreement.

So much for conversation, Bianchi supposed, and settled back in her seat to let the drive past in silence. At least it was only a few minutes into town—which hadn't changed much, as far as Bianchi could tell. She and Hayato had come to town sometimes when they'd been very small, before things had gone to shit between them. She remembered that there'd been a bevy of nannies and bodyguards to watch over them as they'd explored the town square on market days, cadging sweets from indulgent shopkeepers and playing in the fountain at the center of the town square.

Those had been the good days. At least there had been good days.

Most of the shops looked the same, from what she remembered, which was what she'd been counting on. "This will do," she said as Mario circle the square and came to the west side of it. He murmured an acknowledgement and the car glided to a stop. Bianchi remembered to let Carlo exit the car first at the last minute. "We'll be in the dress shop," she told Mario as Carlo glanced around and opened her door.

The sign over the door was so old and faded that it was nearly illegible, but then, no one needed it to know what it said: _Bastiani – Dresses Made_. The original Bastiani had opened shop in that storefront before the turn of the last century and his family had followed the traditions he'd set down ever since.

The bell over the door still jingled half a tone off key, and the smell of the shop—old dust and sunlight on wooden boards, wool and silk and cotton, the smell of tea and the astringent odor of cedar—cast Bianchi back to the hours she'd spent here as a child, being fitted for dresses or playing quietly among the bolts of cloth while her mother negotiated with the then-current generation of the Bastiani dressmakers.

Bianchi revised the thought—the woman herself emerged from the back of the shop, summoned by the bell, still as stout as Bianchi remembered, though a little older and greyer. "Welcome to—oh, my." She stopped short at the sight of Bianchi, hand flying to her mouth. "Costanza—ah, no, it couldn't be. Bianchi, child, is that you?"

Bianchi started at her mother's name, and again at the way Rosa Bastiani rushed forward and embraced her while Carlo shifted his weight uneasily. "I—yes, it's me," she managed, awkwardly, shocked by the welcome. "I hadn't thought you'd recognize me."

"Not recognize you? My dear, don't be absurd, you are the very image of your mother." Rosa stepped back from her, holding her by the shoulders. "I swear I thought it was her for a moment, come back from the past or the fountain of youth."

"Ah," Bianchi said, thrown. "No, I'm afraid it's only me."

"There's no 'only' about it!" Rosa released her shoulders, smiling. "Good Lord, child, if only you knew how I've wondered and worried about you these ten years...! Well!" She shook her head. "There's not telling the young, I suppose."

And there was no answering that. Bianchi cleared her throat. "Well. Here I am, anyway. I suppose you don't have time for a fitting this afternoon?"

"Not have time for Costanza's daughter?" Rosa nearly sputtered with her indignation. "The very idea! Come in, child, and I'll put on a pot of tea, and we'll have a good long talk about fittings and other things." She glanced over Bianchi's shoulder. "And your man here can sit out back, if he likes, or go have a beer down at Ramiro's."

Bianchi suspected there wasn't much hope of that. "Go ahead, Carlo. I can look after myself for a bit."

She was right: he rumbled something that she thought meant that he wasn't going anywhere. Fortunately, Rosa had experience in shepherding bodyguards out of the way; she flapped her hands at him. "Go, the stoop if you won't have it any other way, but I won't have you looming over us while we discuss things men mustn't know."

It was rather like watching a guinea hen cluck at a bear, but Carlo let himself be shifted eventually, grudgingly, to the back of the shop, just in time for Mario to join him. Rosa supplied them with a brace of bottled sodas and shut the door on them, firmly, as one did a bothersome cat. "There," she sighed, and ushered Bianchi into her consulting room as she called to someone named Teo to put on the kettle for tea. She pressed Bianchi into one of the spindly chairs at the table and sank into the other with a sigh, and beamed at Bianchi some more. "I swear you look just like Costanza," she said. "It makes me feel thirty years younger, just looking at you."

"I—thank you," Bianchi said, to cover her confusion. "I—don't believe anyone has ever told me that, actually."

"How would they know to? You haven't been home in a long time." Rosa's smile faded a bit. "Neither has she, of course. How is she? I never hear from her any more."

Bianchi chose her words carefully. "I—the last I heard from her, she was well." It was true, though it left out the fact that she had not heard from her mother since leaving home. "Happier, too, I think."

Rosa's mouth hardened just a bit. "No one could deserve it more." Then she drew a breath and gave Bianchi a bright smile. "You've been away so long, and we haven't heard anything from you. What have you been doing with yourself?"

"Oh," Bianchi said, "a little of this and a little of that. I was in Japan for a while."

Rosa's eyes went gratifyingly wide. "Japan? My goodness, what on earth were you doing there?"

Bianchi laughed in spite of herself. "Home tutoring."

Rosa raised her eyebrows, but let that pass. "Were you there for very long?"

For the amount of time it had taken Tsuna to get through middle school and muddle his way through high school. "Several years, yeah."

"That's a long time to be away from home," Rosa observed.

Bianchi shrugged at her. "It wasn't that bad. There were interesting people there. I made friends. And there was plenty to keep me busy." Keeping Tsuna and his little Family out of trouble was a full-time job, just about.

Rosa nodded wisely. "That's good."

They were interrupted then by a teenager who balanced a tray carefully in knobby-knuckled hands. "Your tea, Mama." He was tall and rail-thin and peered at Bianchi from behind round lenses after setting the tray down.

"Thank you, Teo." Rosa smiled up at him. "This is my youngest. I doubt you'll remember him—he was just a baby when you left—but he'll be the one who'll be measuring you for new dresses after I've gone on. Teo, honey, this is Miss Bianchi Falco."

Bianchi did remember a toddler still in diapers, but there wasn't much resemblance between the toddler and the stooping teen staring at her now. "A pleasure to meet you again, Teo."

His Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed. "And you, Miss Falco."

"Teo, how are things coming along with the Ricci order?"

The question snapped him out of his shyness and he turned to his mother. "We've just finished the shell. I was going to give him a call about coming in for the fitting."

"I think that can wait for a bit." Rosa busied herself with pouring the tea—Bianchi remembered those fragile cups and how she'd longed to be allowed to take tea in them as her mother had done, and the first time she'd been allowed to. She accepted her cup and inhaled the steam rising from it as Rosa directed her son to pull up the stool from its place in the corner. "Teo began his apprenticeship this year," she murmured as her son perched on the stool and tucked his long legs up on the rails. "He should have some of the care of your clothing from the beginning."

"Yes, of course, that makes perfect sense." Bianchi sipped the tea—it was delicate, jasmine-scented and subtle on the tongue—and let Rosa hand her a plate of tea cakes. Teo was digging a notebook and a pencil out of his pocket and flipping them open; he looked rather like a clerically-minded stork. "Well, to business." She took another sip of tea. "Most of my clothes are the practical kind, good for working in, as you can see." Jeans and t-shirts were cheap enough to get rid of without much guilt when they ended up ruined. "They're comfortable enough, but I'll be doing a different kind of work now that I've come home."

Rosa nodded wisely. "Following your mother?"

Bianchi set her teacup down. "No. My father."

Rosa possessed remarkable self-control; her expression barely flickered, though her son made a startled sound. "Ah, of course. It will be suits, then, and not party dresses." If she thought it a pity, she didn't let on.

Bianchi thought about that. "Maybe." She glanced down at herself, considering her figure—it really was very nice, if she did say so herself—and her father's probable reaction to either suits or dresses. When she looked up again, both Rosa and Teo were waiting. "I'm not a man. And I don't care to pretend that I am."

Rosa hummed over the edge of her teacup. "Mm, I see. Fitted suits, perhaps, and tailored shirts... or dresses?"

Dresses weren't practical for running in, but then, freedom of movement didn't matter much when one was pinned down by one's security detail. Well, with any luck it would be a temporary matter. "Dresses, I think." A thought occurred to her and she grinned. "After all, men have such a hard time concentrating when they're ogling you."

Rosa laughed and Teo made another muffled sound, something between a laugh and a squawk. "This is very true. Teo, go pull the books for us, dear."

He hopped down and disappeared into the back, and came back with his arms full of binders. Rosa sorted through them and handed one over to Bianchi; it was full of clippings, sketches, and pictures. "Now," Rosa said, brisk, "let's see what we can find that will suit you."

* * *

Bianchi knew, now, that some bosses took their meals privately or with family in smaller, less formal dining rooms, and saved the large, formal dining halls for special occasions or guests. Growing up, it had seemed normal to take her meals at the long table in the formal dining room, sitting stiffly in her chair, answering Luciano Falco's peremptory questions if he had them or eating in silence while he and Costanza argued. It had been a long time before Bianchi had learned to enjoy a meal and not to associate it with tension in her shoulders and spine.

This meal didn't promise to be any better than the ones she remembered; there were two places laid at the table, one at the head and one at the foot, and a good four meters of empty table between them.

"This is absurd," Bianchi announced to no one in particular, and began dragging the chair away from the foot of the table.

That earned her some peculiar glances from the people going in and out, waiting for her father to come in so they could serve the meal. Bianchi ignored them and wrestled the chair down to the head of the table, placing it to the right of her father's seat. "There," she said, straightening her shirt absently, and went to retrieve her place setting.

Her father came in as she was rearranging the last heavy piece of silverware. When she looked up, he was staring. "What is this?"

Bianchi straightened up and stretched her back. "I didn't come home to play hostess in Mother's place, and I'm not shouting from the end of the table just to have a little conversation. It's ridiculous."

"You are the most impertinent creature who ever lived," he informed her, coming away from the door. But he did not tell her or the servants to restore the dishes to their proper places, either.

Bianchi rolled her eyes and let one of the footmen pull the chair out for her. "You think I'm bad? I've met worse than me." Haru came to mind, for one.

"God help those who have to deal with them," her father said, taking his seat.

Bianchi contemplated the fact that she was reasonably sure Haru had set her sights on Hayato and just smiled. "I'm sure it keeps life interesting."

"An interesting life is overrated." The staff filled their water glasses and poured the wine while others brought the first course in. "When you get to be my age, girl, you'll think the same."

Bianchi tasted her soup before trusting herself to answer. "Oh, I know that 'interesting' just means busy and too damn dangerous most of the time." She shrugged. "But that can be exciting, in its own way."

"You sound like Stefano." He wasn't really eating, she noticed; he just stirred his spoon through the soup and occasionally lifted it to his mouth.

"Uncle Stefano did teach me everything I know." Bianchi stopped, reconsidering. "Well. Everything that I didn't learn from Reborn, anyway." And Uncle Stefano had been the one who'd sent her to Reborn when she'd made up her mind to leave, so it all amounted to about the same thing in the end.

Her father frowned. "There are some things women shouldn't know."

Bianchi forced herself to take a mouthful of soup, and another, and then a sip of wine, before allowing herself to answer. "My goodness, how charmingly medieval of you to say so!" She smiled, trusting him to see that it was fake. "Shall we skip the bits where I scream at you that it's the twenty-first century and I'll do what I want with my life, and you shout about what's appropriate for a young lady of my station, and go straight to the part where we glare at each other and one of us storms out? I'd oblige you with the extended version, but it's been a long day and I'm not really in the mood for screaming."

To her complete surprise, he blinked at her, mouth twitching at the corners before it finally turned up in a faint smile. "Impertinent brat."

It should have been an insult—the form of it was right—but it wasn't. Bianchi paused, taken aback by the note of honest amusement in his voice, before recovering. "You already called me impertinent. You only get half points for brat."

"I wasn't aware that we were keeping score." He put his spoon down and pushed the bowl away; it didn't look as though the level of the soup had dropped very much.

Bianchi glanced away from that and shrugged. "I thought we always kept score." She certainly had, keeping a tally of how many times he'd smiled at Hayato and how many times he'd smiled at her, counting up the numbers and despairing at the difference between them.

"Perhaps." He watched her as she ate, silent; there was no telling what he was watching her for. He didn't say anything else until she'd finished her soup. "Keeping score is a cynical way to live."

"We're a cynical kind of people." Bianchi sipped her wine as the servants cleared their dishes away. "Most of us are. I guess I know a few who aren't." There was Tsuna, after all, who was teaching Hayato to trust again, and the other members of Tsuna's Family. And there was Dino, too. In his own way.

But she wasn't going to think about Dino.

Her father leaned back in his chair and sighed. "Maybe." Whatever he was looking at didn't seem to be present. "I don't think it's a good way to live."

Bianchi selected a piece of bread from the basket and buttered it, and swallowed the first several responses that occurred to her with a bite of it. "Maybe not. But it's what we've got for now. And I think it's due to change."

His eyes focused on the present again. "You have your faith in the Vongola heir too, I see." His tone was dry, though not entirely derisive.

Bianchi waited while the servants came in with the main course—a pair of steaks, it turned out, and carefully steamed vegetables under some kind of silky sauce—before she answered. "I was there to see him trained, you know. I know what he's capable of, and I've seen him fight. He's a good kid. He's going to be a great man." She took a breath and steadied herself. "So, yes. I suppose I have put my faith in him."

In the mood for it or not, she would have launched a screaming match with him after all if he'd so much as scoffed at her for being naïve, or worse—sentimental. But he seemed to have been listening; when she finished, all he did was incline his head. "I see. Now eat your dinner, it would be a shame to let it get cold."

"I suppose so." Bianchi picked up her fork and tried the steak; it was really quite good. She ate quietly and watched her father toy with his own meal. She didn't recall him being such a picky eater.

Eventually he put his utensils down and folded his hands under his chin. "So what did you go into town for?"

"To spend your money, of course." Rosa and Teo had helped her make a proper afternoon of it, too. "You did tell me to see about some new clothes."

Bianchi thought that his first impulse had been to wince, but it only showed around his eyes. "How efficient of you."

Bianchi gave him her sweetest smile. "I thought I was supposed to obey orders from my boss?"

He just snorted. "Please. You obey the ones you like and ignore the ones you don't."

"That's not entirely true." Bianchi sipped her wine. "I obey the ones that make sense."

He lifted an eyebrow. "And you're sure, of course, that you know everything you need to in order to tell which ones don't?"

"You learn fast when it means keeping yourself alive." Bianchi permitted herself a grim smile. "I won't say I know everything, but I have pretty good instincts. And better reflexes."

He made an amused sound. "Keeping yourself alive. Of course."

"Hitman, remember?" She gave him a pointed look. "I made my first kill when I was thirteen. And I only barely survived it." She still remembered how the fingers around her throat had felt, squeezing tight, and the way her vision had sparked and grayed out before she'd finally managed to shove some poison cooking into her target's mouth, and how she'd had to gasp for breath under the weight of his body before she'd managed to summon the strength to get free. "Anyway. Learned how to keep myself alive after that." Bianchi took a drink of her water to wash the taste out of her mouth and raised her eyebrows at his stare. "What, you think they call me the Poison Scorpion just because I have a smart mouth and an interesting tattoo?"

He didn't answer immediately, and let her see that he was choosing his words carefully. "That's very young."

Bianchi considered the food that was left on her plate and decided that she was done. "Hayato got started even earlier than I did."

He just looked away at the mention of Hayato; the conversation fell silent as the staff cleared the plates away and brought in two small dishes of ice cream. As Bianchi dipped her spoon into the ice cream, her father said, "I thought for sure that we'd be screaming at each other by this point."

"Told you I'm not really in the mood for it."

"Still. The last time we spoke didn't got this well."

She had to assume he didn't mean this morning's conversation, and gave him her most exasperated look. "Of course it didn't. You tried to order me to heel like a dog." Maybe that was the problem; her father was clearly a dog person. Maybe if he'd been a cat person, they would have gotten along better. "I wouldn't have started screaming at you if I hadn't been so damn offended. I wouldn't have said _yes_ either, mind you." She looked away from him. "I never did plan on coming back here."

Just how much wine had she downed, anyway? She was going to have to pay closer attention to that, Jesus.

"Was it really that bad?" The question was uncertain and his voice was wistful; when Bianchi looked around, she saw that the staff had gone and the doors were closed, which explained that.

"How am I supposed to answer that?" She pushed her ice cream away, thought about the last of her wine, and took up the water glass instead.

"However you like, I suppose."

Jesus.

Bianchi took a long drink of her water and then wiped her damp fingers on her napkin. "It was bad," she said, finally. "You didn't—it was easy to see how much you favored Hayato, and how unimportant I was. And Mother was too desperate to have another baby, to have an actual son, to pay much attention to me." And she'd always gotten the sense that the only thing her mother had seen when she'd looked at her was her own failure. "You said I sound like Uncle Stefano. Well, I should. He practically raised me himself. I used to wish he really was my father. That somehow Hayato and I could switch places, so he could be the legitimate one and I could—well, so we would be in the more sensible arrangement. I was sort of happy when he ran away, you know. Thought that maybe you'd be a little more interested in me after that, but you weren't, not until you realized I'd be useful and started thinking about getting me engaged to the Valetti boy to solidify those smuggling concessions you wanted." He made a sound at that, one that was embarrassed. "Yeah, I knew about that."

"Stefano?" he guessed.

"No. I just knew how to listen to what people around me were saying." Bianchi shrugged again. "All Uncle Stefano told me was where I could go when I asked him how to get out. So, yeah. It really was that bad. At least being a hitman meant I was the one who got to decide what happened to me and who I was going to sleep with."

Her father was sitting very still, hands still tucked under his chin and his untouched ice cream melting into a puddle. "That's how you really feel?"

The hell with it. Bianchi reached for her wine and drained the glass. "You _did_ ask."

"So I did. Perhaps that was a mistake." He was looking at her like he didn't know what to make of her—like he didn't even know who she was.

Which was true enough. "Yeah, well, what's one more mistake, when you come right down to it?" She was definitely going to have to remember to drink less wine at dinner; it really didn't go well with interactions with her father. "I mean, if you really needed me to tell you all of that, I don't know how to help you. I mean, Christ. Hayato thought you'd had his mother killed and you never told him any different. And, for God's sake, do you realize that it was a good five years after we both left that he would sit in the same room and talk with me? And even longer before I could talk to him without something covering my face, all because you thought it was funny for me to poison him before his recitals? Shit. I'm lucky he even speaks to me."

"Enough." His voice was quiet, less angry than—something else, sorrowful or maybe just regretful, she couldn't say. His expression, set as it was, didn't say much, either. "It would be to your advantage to learn to tell when a man is asking you to flatter him, not flatten him."

"I give flattery where it's due." Bianchi spread her hands against the table, feeling the cool wood under her palms. "I can't—there's too much I remember to be able to play happy families with you now. And too many places that still hurt for me to laugh and say, oh yeah, in retrospect, I _was_ an impertinent brat who didn't know how good she had it." Her voice was going harsh; God only knew what her face looked like. But he was listening, so she plowed on. "I've seen how other families work, some of 'em from the inside out, and I know it doesn't have to be the way ours was. I've seen how other Families work, too, and yeah, some of them really suck on the whole interpersonal thing, but they don't all suck." She sucked in a breath; it was unsteady. So was her voice when she went on. "I'm not here because I want to be. I'm here because I have an overdeveloped sense of duty and because there's no one else who can do it. If there were, I'd have stayed where I was, because I was happy there, damn it."

"Being a freelance hitman for the Vongola?" He didn't quite sound like he believed it. "At least your brother found himself a place in their hierarchy." He paused. "Unless you were more interested in being Cavallone's—"

What was they'd been saying about not screaming at each other? "Don't." Bianchi forced herself to unclench her teeth. "You don't want to say anything about him, I promise you, because if you do, I swear to God I will make you regret it."

"I'm just saying that you come from a better background than that."

"And I think we're done for the evening." It was that or lose what remained of her temper, so Bianchi pushed her chair back from the table. "Good night."

She left him sitting at the table and ignored his voice calling after her and made her way up to her rooms. The boxes that she'd only begun to unpack were where she'd left them; she ignored them and undressed for bed instead.

She was just ready to crawl between the turned-back sheets when she heard the low buzz of her phone from the pile of her discarded clothes as it alerted her to an incoming message.

It was from Dino, the idiot. Bianchi sat on the edge of the mattress, cradling the phone in her hands and staring at the screen and the words, _you okay?_ until the screen dimmed.

Her fingers danced over the keys and hit send before she could think better of it. _haven't killed anyone yet. was tempted, though._

The reply came back as she slid her legs under the blankets and settled against the pillows. It made her smile. _some people just need killing._

_not going to argue._

His reply took a little longer, short as it was. _seriously. you okay?_

Bianchi leaned her head back against the headboard and finally typed, _long day. kind of hard in spots. i'll survive._

She gripped the phone so tightly that the casing creaked when the return message flashed across its screen. _monaco, just say the word._

_don't tempt me._ She stabbed send before she could change her mind about it and type something else, something that wouldn't work.

_can't blame me for trying,_ he typed. _miss you._

Why did Dino have to be so damned sweet? It wasn't the slightest bit fair. Bianchi rubbed her eyes till they stopped aching and picked out the reply, carefully. _yeah, me too. going to bed now, i'm tired._

The phone vibrated again as she turned out the lamp, and again as she settled herself against the unfamiliar mattress. She held out for all of three minutes before groping through the darkness and looking to see what he'd written.

Then she tossed the phone away from the bed, heard it land with a soft thump somewhere on the other side of the room, and fisted her hands in the blankets to keep herself from going after it.

And despite the _sleep well_, she did not fall asleep quickly, or sleep well once she did. But that was surely the fault of the unfamiliar bed and had nothing to do with Dino's final message at all, despite the way the _love you_ of it seemed to be engraved on the insides of her eyelids. That would have been ridiculous, and Bianchi didn't have time to be ridiculous any more.


	3. Chapter 3

Notes appear in the first chapter.

**

* * *

**

**Part Three**

After she finished her breakfast, Bianchi turned her face away from the mess of half-unpacked boxes, tied her hair back, and went down to the house's firing range. There were a few men already there, no one she recognized, all absorbed in their shooting. That suited Bianchi just fine; she selected a stall at the end of the range away from the door, put on her safety glasses and her ear protectors, and spent a satisfying half hour emptying clips into the paper targets, punching neat clusters of holes into the vital spots.

She noticed the guy standing in the stall next to hers when she finally sent the last target fluttering away, clearing the range for the next guy. He wasn't shooting; he was watching her. Bianchi glanced at him once as she checked her gun over and holstered it. He was on her side of thirty, she thought, tall and lanky and not too bad-looking provided one didn't mind beaky noses, and dark-haired and olive-skinned. When he caught her eye, he smiled.

Bianchi braced herself for all the possible inanities, but all he said was, "Nice shooting."

It was refreshingly straightforward and blessedly free of innuendo; Bianchi approved. "Thanks." She dropped her gear into her bag and slung it over her shoulder.

He took the hint and turned his attention back to his own shooting.

That was one part of the morning routine taken care of; the next promised to be a little trickier. There was a knack for handling spaces that were largely masculine: Bianchi thought of it as acting like a cat, since cats assumed that the whole world was their territory, going where they pleased and at home wherever they went. So Bianchi strolled down the hall, peered into the weight room, took a breath, and strolled in like she owned the place.

Technically speaking, she supposed she sort of did.

It wasn't too different from any of the other weight rooms she'd ever worked out in. Less crowded than some, though there were men working on their lifting and a cluster of them just standing around and talking. The whole place smelled of testosterone and sweat, and the low buzz of conversation stuttered to a halt as she sauntered over to the rack of weights and looked them over. The other lifters stopped what they were doing, one by one, as she did.

Bianchi ignored the stares and stretched out, shaking her muscles loose and warm. The trick was in acting like she belonged, like this was perfectly ordinary, like she'd never heard that this wasn't the place for nice young girls...

The first challenge came as she was rolling up her sleeves. "Bit far afield, aren't you?" someone called.

Bianchi ignored him and made her selection off the rack. Someone else called, "You sure you can manage that much weight?"

"Watch me and find out." Bianchi set herself in front of the mirror and started the first set of curls, breathing out with the satisfying burn in her arms and shoulders, careful of her form and even more careful to look like she wasn't paying attention to the peanut gallery, even though she was minutely aware of each stare.

They watched her silently; all she could really hear was her own breathing. Bianchi counted off the reps, three sets of them, before setting the dumbbell down and breathing. As she did, someone went back to his own lifts. So that was good.

What was less good was the guy who had sauntered over to her as she'd begun her first set; he was big, broad in the shoulders and with a neck as thick as his head. Of course. He planted himself squarely in her field of vision as she switched arms and started the next set of reps. "Never seen a pretty little girl like you around here before."

No, because the Falco tended to be traditionalists and girls didn't lift weights. "Can't imagine why not." Seven, eight, she counted off, looking through him and watching him try to work out what sort of reply that had been. Ten, eleven...

She was in the breathing space between sets before he spoke again. "This isn't a place for women."

"According to whom?" Bianchi took a breath and started in on the second set, wondering if she was going to have to fight him before she was done. One, two... "There weren't any signs on the door."

"Most women don't need to be told."

"I," Bianchi said, "am not most women." Six, seven...

"Yeah?" someone else called. "Who do you think you are, then?"

Bingo, there it was. Bianchi breathed out, lifted her chin a little higher, and said, "I'm the Poison Scorpion, dumbass. Who'd you think I was?" She listened to the murmur of surprise as she finished the set; someone was muttering in disbelief and someone else was saying something about the tattoo. When the buzz had died off a little, she added, "But you gentlemen can call me Ms. Falco."

She started the third set in dead silence, counting off the reps and the seconds in her head. She was on ten when the mountain of muscle who'd appointed himself spokesman said, uncertainly, "You're Miss Bianchi?"

"Yeah."

Another quiet murmur started up, this one startled, pitched lower than she could decipher easily. She finished the set and shook her arms out, and saw that the mountain was frowning down at her, apparently caught in some kind of fit of conscience. "This really isn't a place for ladies."

So she'd gone from being a pretty little girl to being a lady. Was that an improvement? Bianchi mustered up the most unladylike snort she could manage. "Watch who you're calling a lady, pal. That's practically an insult, you know."

He'd tried to plant himself in her way; Bianchi eeled around him, racking her weights. She spoke as she did, not looking at any of them. "Oh fuck, you're thinking, what the fuck is she doing here, we're going to have to be fucking polite and respectful while that silly little bitch makes herself at home in our own damn space." Bianchi straightened her back and showed them her teeth. "And I'm thinking, Oh _please_, you boys can't do a damn thing to shock me I haven't seen a hundred times already." She planted her hands on her hips and looked them all over. She had their undivided attention, anyway. "I told you, I'm the Poison Scorpion, not some lady who'll faint the first time someone says a goddamn nasty word in her hearing, and I know more filthy jokes than all of you boys put together, and I've seen more action than any ten of you. So if you've got a problem with me being here, spit it out and we'll settle it right here and now."

They stared, and Bianchi stared right back, ready to shove a poison cupcake down the throat of the first man of them who moved the wrong way.

Then someone laughed. "Shit," he said, "does she have style or what?"

For a split second she thought the guy from the firing range had followed her, but no, this one was wearing a t-shirt and the other one had been in a proper shirt and tie. Same smile on both of them, and same beaky nose.

Twins. Fucking twins, and how many sets of those did the Falco have running around these days?

But that was a wrinkle to worry about later. "Shit." Bianchi drawled it out, letting it drip off her tongue. "Are you kidding? I've got more style than I know what to do with."

He laughed again and someone else followed his lead, while the mountain shook his head and turned away, still looking a little unhappy about it.

So there was that, anyway.

The conversations she'd interrupted started to pick up again as she resumed her workout. She kept an eye on Beaky Nose II when she could, and thought he was doing the same to her. Not that he was alone in that; she was pretty sure all of them were watching her, maybe waiting for her to fuck up or hurt herself.

Not that she was going to let that happen, not this morning.

She was finishing up when Stefano came in, dressed for a workout. "Morning, Uncle Stefano."

He beamed at her. "Hey, kiddo, you're up early!" He presented his cheek to be kissed.

Bianchi obliged him, watching the variously surprised and intimidated looks run around the room and noting that Beaky Nose II just seemed enormously entertained. "You know what they say about early birds."

Stefano laughed. "So I do." He patted her on the shoulder. "Even your dad doesn't get started with his day for another hour yet. No flies on you, eh?"

Bianchi huffed softly. "Thanks," she muttered, pitching it low, just for his ears.

He just grinned at her and let her go on her way.

She passed Beaky Nose I on her way out and thought he might have blinked a little when he realized she'd just come from the testosterone fortress. Bianchi pretended to ignore him, though she caught him looking after her before going into the weight room, wearing a small frown.

They were definitely twins. Fabulous.

Well, screw it; she'd worry about it when she had to. Bath first, and then the day could get started.

* * *

Her father started most of his days by meeting with his right hand, discussing the day's work and the Falco's business before launching into the daily administration of the Falco.

It took every ounce of nerve Bianchi had to stroll into his office without knocking and give him a breezy, "Good morning."

He was still alone; well, it was a few minutes before the hour and Giancarlo always had been fastidiously punctual. He gave her a look. "What are you doing here?"

Bianchi settled herself in one of the chairs, making herself comfortable. "I'm here for the morning briefing, of course." She fished the notebook and a pen out of her purse and smiled at him. "As the cliche goes, today _is_ the first day of the rest of my life."

"I'm not going to name you my heir." He said it flatly, his exasperation shining through it despite his best effort.

That was the general idea, yes. If only he'd realize it and get with the program. "Then you're an idiot." Bianchi uncapped her pen and flipped the notebook open. "I'm the only heir you've got." She let her smile turn a little sharper. "And you might have at least _some_ consideration for the poor bastard you want to marry me off to. Food poisoning is a terrible way to go."

"You wouldn't."

Bianchi just smiled. "Wouldn't I? Why don't you ask Romeo Marino of the Vieri what I would, and would not, do?" Good old Romeo, who'd thought that sleeping with her had given him a claim to things he'd had no right to, and thought he'd be able to use her as a lever to greater things. Thank God the memory didn't sting any more.

It said something about all of them that her father looked like he was sort of impressed. Not that being impressed kept him from saying, "Nevertheless, I—"

He was interrupted by a knock at the door; the girl who came in had a tray with carafes and all the accoutrements for coffee. She was followed by three men, her father's right hand, Giancarlo, and Beaky Noses I and II.

All three of them looked at her, evidently confused by her presence, though one of the twins immediately began to grin. He wasn't wearing tatty gym clothes any more, but Bianchi assumed he was Beaky Nose II. He confirmed it by saying, "Morning, Boss, Ms. Scorpion Falco ma'am."

Bianchi laughed in spite of herself. "I think 'Ms. Falco' will be enough."

He grinned at her, eyed the room—they were short a chair—and strolled over to the window to perch there.

His brother and Giancarlo, meanwhile, were holding a complicated and wholly silent conversation with her father, one that was made up of lifted eyebrows, subtle gestures, and a certain amount of grimacing on Giancarlo and her father's parts.

Men, honestly. Bianchi gestured at the girl, who looked dismayed to be short one coffee cup, while the three of them made faces at each other. When that had gone on for long enough, she said, "Good morning, Uncle Giancarlo. It's good to see you again." She accepted a cup of coffee from the girl. "I'm afraid I haven't been formally introduced to the two of you, though...?"

Beaky Nose II grinned. "Gervasio Conti. And my brother, Davide. Hey, pass some of that coffee my way."

"Charmed, I'm sure." So Beaky Nose I was Davide, then, and he was looking at her, sizing her up as she was him. His smile was more restrained than his brothers; well, she supposed he had good reason for it.

Giancarlo found his voice, finally, though he still had that dyspeptic look on his face. "It's very good to see you again, Miss Bianchi." He claimed one of the chairs; it practically molded itself to him, even though he managed to keep every last centimeter of his posture perfectly stiff and correct. "I'm sorry to interrupt your conversation with your father, but we have business to discuss."

"Of course." Bianchi inclined her head to him as Davide took the third chair, the one that Gervasio had left open for him. "Please, whenever you're ready."

Davide and Giancarlo looked to her father; Gervasio's eyes stayed on her. They were laughing over his coffee cup, and that was interesting. Bianchi tucked that away for later consideration as the girl wavered between giving the final cup of coffee to Giancarlo or Davide, and decided to just leave it on the edge of the desk between them before withdrawing.

When the door shut behind the girl, Bianchi glanced at her father, too.

He frowned back at her, and his fingers drummed against his desk briefly. "Well, let's get on with it."

Bianchi buried her triumphant smile in her coffee.

Giancarlo looked less than pleased, but opened up his portfolio and tapped a finger against the first item on his agenda. "Obviously, the first item is Miss Bianchi's return home." His tone was dry. "It's already made its way around town, though we're not sure whether it's made its way to the other Families yet."

"The Vongola know." Bianchi shrugged at their glances; if they thought she hadn't told Hayato, they were ridiculous. "And the Cavallone, of course."

"Then the rest of the world will not be far behind." Giancarlo glanced at her again. "We will want to reaffirm that relationship openly, fairly quickly."

"There's the Maggiora wedding," Gervasio suggested. "The boss could take Ms. Scorpion instead of Licia."

And just who was Licia? Bianchi carefully avoided looking at her father. "Oh, weddings. Those are always so cheerful, don't you think?"

They ignored her, though that wasn't a surprise. Her father was nodding. "The Maggiora wedding might do for starters. We'll need to host an affair of our own."

"That goes without saying." Giancarlo turned a few pages and consulted a calendar. "The end of the month is still fairly open. Say the twenty-seventh?"

Her father shrugged. "That will do." He glanced her way. "Will that suit you?"

"I never did have a formal coming out," Bianchi murmured, knowing that her smile was crooked. "This works, I guess."

Her father's mouth quirked. "Excellent. We'll leave the planning in your capable hands."

The hell he said. "Oh please. You can do that if you want it to be a disaster. I don't know a damn thing about planning parties." She sipped her coffee. "Well, unless you want to poison one of the guests and leave the rest of 'em untouched." More to the point, she hadn't come back here to plan parties and play hostess. That wasn't going to do the Falco a damn bit of good against the fucking Macrini.

The protest failed to move her father. "Compared to that, planning a party should be simple. The twenty-seventh, then. Let us invite, oh, all the major Families."

"Don't say I didn't warn you," she muttered, sneaking a glance at the Conti brothers. Davide was hard to read; she couldn't tell what he was thinking. Gervasio just looked like he was enjoying the world's greatest joke.

"Yes, well, moving along." Giancarlo cleared his throat. "What official position are we going to be taking on her return? And her absence, for that matter?"

Bianchi leaned back in her seat, sipping her coffee and taking a preemptively firm grip on her temper, since this promised to be a fascinating display of Family bullshit in action. "Whole world knows I was working freelance all that time, without a Family name." Not that she was bitter, of course. Heaven forbid.

"There's certainly no denying that. You were flamboyant enough about it." Her father drummed his fingers against his desk.

Davide coughed. "What if it was to serve the Family in some capacity?" When they looked at him, he added, "It would explain the long absence and the freelance status."

"And what would I have been doing for the Family all this time?" Bianchi inquired, curious. "Bearing in mind that I spent the last few years in direct service to the Vongola?"

"Getting stronger, of course," Gervasio supplied, giving her another toothy grin. "Learning how the world works from the inside out. Proving how tough you are to all the other Families."

Huh. So neither of them were particularly stupid. Well, that was reassuring.

"Why would she need to prove how tough she is?" her father asked, which dampened some of Gervasio's grin.

Davide was the one to come up with the answer. "So that people would take her seriously when you called her home again, of course." He shrugged. "It's a polite fiction, obviously, but the fact the remains that she _is_ the Poison Scorpion. One must take than into account."

Gervasio laughed. "And _how_. Lord, you should have seen her handle the boys this morning."

Her father's gaze swiveled in her direction, pinning her to her seat. "Handle the boys?" he echoed.

Bianchi sipped her cooling coffee. "When I went to work out. The gentlemen in the weight room felt I was out of my element." She paused, waiting for her father's face to begin turning red, before she added, "Don't worry, I didn't have to break anyone. It went very smoothly."

That just made his face go darker. "And did you not even consider the fact that they could have broken you?"

"Of course I considered it. I consider it any time I go into a room that's full of men all by my lonesome." She drained her cup and set it aside. "I expect I could have done more damage to them than they would have expected, and anyway, I'll be damned if I'll let anyone tell me where I can and can't go in my own damn home. Or if I'll let everything I've worked to achieve these past ten years go to waste now that I'm here."

Silence greeted that, until Gervasio said, tone bright, "So like I said, it was a training thing. Getting her ready."

"Ready for what, thought?" Giancarlo inquired.

Bianchi kept her eyes trained on her father, who was still flushed. She didn't think it was all anger, though—there was something else in his expression that she would have called fear, had there been anything for him to be afraid of. He didn't say anything, and neither did the inventive Gervasio. It was Davide who finally said, "Well, isn't it obvious? It was to prepare her to take over the Family."

Huh. She'd thought she'd have to bluff her way through the heir business all by herself. Bianchi wasn't sure whether to be pleased by the unexpected support or disturbed that other people thought her bluff was viable.

Davide's suggestion broke the staring contest, anyway; they all turned to stare at him then, Giancarlo with a strangled squawk. Davide looked back and added, "That is where this is going, isn't it?"

So—smart and relatively forward-thinking. No wonder Uncle Stefano had spoken so highly of him. Bianchi took a moment to be pleased by that and said, "You would think so, wouldn't you?"

Giancarlo recovered quickly, she had to give him that. "You must be joking! This Family has never had a female boss."

"It's never had the occasion to have a female boss. There've always been legitimate male heirs before now." Not that she'd spent time looking at the family tree or anything, or that she knew just as well as her father did that all the extant legitimate lines were extinct. Even Uncle Stefano's great-grandfather was from the wrong side of the sheets. "But if it works for the Giglio Nero, I suppose we can make it work for us."

"The Giglio Nero are different." Giancarlo's lips were pursed like he was tasting something sour. "They have custody of the Sky pacifier."

"Worked for the Vongola, too," Gervasio said. He looked like he was enjoying himself immensely.

Giancarlo had an objection for that, too. "Those were extraordinary times."

"And these aren't?" Bianchi raised her eyebrows at him. "Or is it just me that you're objecting to?" He frowned and didn't reply, which was its own kind of answer. Bianchi let out a breath. "Well. It seems we are at an impasse."

"Not to mention the fact that _I_ still haven't agreed that you should be my heir." Her father looked from Davide to Giancarlo and then to her. "The last I checked, I still had a say in all this, and I'm not dead _quite_ yet."

"Sorry, Boss," Davide murmured, lowering his eyes. "I didn't mean to presume."

"Never mind." He wasn't even looking at Davide; he was studying Bianchi, something gone thoughtful in his eyes. "We can leave the question of why she was sent away to get stronger unanswered for the time being, I think."

Bianchi frowned at him; it would have been better if he'd rejected the idea outright. Well, one step at a time.

"I suppose we can." Giancarlo flipped through his portfolio again and marked something off on his agenda. "The Magri are beginning to make noise about opening up trade in the west and want our opinions on that."

The Magri—drugs, mostly, and some smuggling. Surprising, really, since Bianchi hadn't thought their scuffle with the Taglieri had left them with the resources to spare, especially considering how many of their underbosses the Taglieri had killed. Her father seemed to think the same; he snorted. "I think they're too ambitious, and idiots if they think I'm going to let them piggyback off _my_ infrastructure."

"Not for free," Davide said. "But we could turn it into revenue."

Gervasio rolled his eyes. "Because Benito Magri is dumb enough to let us skim off the top of his profits, right."

"Doesn't hurt to suggest it." Bianchi tapped her pen against her notebook. "Man's kind of gullible, if you approach him just right."

Giancarlo glanced at her, expression polite. "And what way would that be?"

Bianchi grinned at him. "Cleavage first." She'd managed to wrangle some very nice fees out of him during his little war with Nico Taglieri. It was just a pity that Benito was an idiot at tactics, too.

Giancarlo didn't rise to the bait. "Ah. We're deficient in that department, unfortunately."

"Only if you choose to be." Bianchi thought about it—well, there was nothing for it. "Have him out to lunch to discuss it." She shot a look at her father. "I'll even play hostess for it, just this once. You'll see what I mean."

"You think highly of your figure, I see," he said, but after a moment he added, "Giancarlo, make the arrangements. See if he's free on Friday."

"Yes, Boss." Giancarlo made a few notes; Bianchi did too, though she suspected that Giancarlo didn't need to remember to dress nicely on Friday morning. Maybe the cashmere sweater, she thought, and added a note to that effect.

The next few items on Giancarlo's agenda were about the Falco itself, discussions of income and expenses. Bianchi didn't have anything to contribute to those, though it was gratifying to hear that the Falco were doing well. After he finished with that, they moved to a discussion of the other Families. Bianchi nodded along until they got to the Vongola and Davide said, "It looks like they'll be coming to war with the Cetrulli soon."

"It won't," Bianchi said.

He glanced at her, eyebrows raised. "The Cetrulli want it to. They've been angling at the Vongola for twenty years now; they're not going to let this chance slip past them."

"And they don't know what they're getting into." Bianchi shook her head. "They think Tsuna is just a kid, but they're wrong. He only looks like a kid. He's stronger than anyone gives him credit for being, I assure you." They were all looking at her now, clearly skeptical. Bianchi suppressed the urge to sigh. "I know, I know, you think I'm exaggerating or letting myself be partial to the kid, but I'm not. I've seen him do things that five other bosses put together couldn't do. He's Giotto Vongola made flesh again, and I'll tell you right now that you don't _want_ to see what it'll take to push him to war. Once he gets to that point, he won't stop until he's eliminated his enemies." She had the strange not-memories of that other future to convince her of that; pity that she'd sworn an oath not to share those secrets.

"That's all very nice, but I don't think it'll convince the Cetrulli." Davide shook his head. "They want a war."

"I doubt they'll get one. Tsuna will find another way. He's not going to go to war just to win a pissing contest with the Cetrulli."

After a moment, they moved on to the next item. Bianchi sighed quietly, exasperated. So much for taking advantage of superior inside intelligence.

Finally her father leaned back in his chair and folded his hands across his stomach. "Is that everything, then?" They nodded. "Very good. Davide, stay a moment. I need to speak with you."

Dismissals didn't come any more obvious than that. Giancarlo levered himself out of his chair with a groan and a creak of his knees and strode out without another word. Bianchi followed at her own pace, accompanied by Gervasio.

Well, no time like the present to get one or two of her questions answered. "So," she said when the door was closed behind them, "we just met this morning, and you're already on my side?"

She wasn't surprised when the direct approach made him laugh. "You made a good impression, Ms. Scorpion ma'am." He grinned at her. "And I'm not stupid. I can see where all this is going."

Yes, she'd figured as much. "What's in it for you if you play along?"

He was still grinning. "We can figure that out when we get there."

And he was cagey, too. Smart guy. "I see."

He scratched his chin. "Yeah, I didn't figure that'd be good enough." He gave her another grin, this one crooked; Bianchi was reminded of Yamamoto Takeshi. "I like that you wanna be the boss yourself. Saves other people the hard work of doing it themselves."

And by other people, he clearly meant his brother. Twins, she reminded herself, obviously fairly close ones if the serious look in Gervasio's eyes was anything to go by. "Doesn't he want—" she began.

Gervasio shook his head at her and she stopped; fair enough, this wasn't the time or the place. Bianchi cast around for an excuse and found one. "I need to plan a party and the first rule of leadership is knowing how to delegate. I'd like your advice."

He grinned again. "And I'd be delighted to assist you, Ms. Scorpion ma'am." He swept her a flourishing bow. "Come down to my office and let's talk."

"Perfect." Bianchi gestured at him and he led her down a hallway and around the corner to an office that was smaller and less elegant than her father's and considerably more crowded with filing cabinets and papers.

"Come in," he said, and removed a stack of folders from the chair in front of his desk. "You'll want to get the door."

"Will I?" she said, dry.

He laughed. "Yeah. No one's going to question your honor around _me_." He flopped into the chair behind the desk and gestured at the calendar hanging on the wall. "You're not my type."

Bianchi glanced at the chiseled body of the nearly-naked football star and smirked. "I see." Well, Uncle Stefano had said as much himself. She pulled the door closed behind her and took the seat he'd cleared for her. "So your brother doesn't want the Falco?"

"Not really." Gervasio leaned back in his chair and set his feet on the desk, crossed at the ankles. "No disrespect, but we didn't grow up in this Family. We like it and we're loyal to your dad, but if Davide wanted to lead a Family, he'd choose his own."

Bianchi raised her eyebrows; was he assuming that she already knew who they really were, or offering that tidbit in exchange for something else? Or fishing to see how well informed she was? Well. Let him see. "I see. I agree with him, actually. This is my Family, not his." She wouldn't have thought that she'd had that much possessiveness left in her, but there it was.

"Just so." Gervasio gave her another of his crooked smiles. "Not that he has any Family left besides me, and I was pretty much born to be my Family's black sheep. So he's kind of on his own there, poor bastard, since he got all the loyalty and honor for the both of us."

"And what does that mean in practical terms?" And how much of what he was saying could she trust?

"Means he knows how much he owes your dad, so he's determined to do right by him, even if it tears him in two." Gervasio shrugged. "Me, I figure the Linardon are gone and not coming back, so I serve the Falco now and like it, and any time the fucking Macrini come around, I get a spot in the front ranks and give 'em hell. That's all I really ask out of life, so life treats me pretty well."

"I begin to see," Bianchi murmured.

"So, yeah." Gervasio gave her a look that was piercing, despite the smile. "That's why I'm ready to throw in with you. It'll be better for him, and—"

The door flew open, cutting him off, and Davide stomped in. "This is—" he began, and stopped short. "Miss Falco."

Bianchi took a deep breath, lowering her arm and the fistful of poison cooking she held. "Forgive me. You startled me." She neutralized the poison cooking and dropped it in the wastebasket.

Christ, she hadn't realized she was _this_ edgy.

"No, forgive me. I didn't realize my brother was in a meeting." He was looking back and forth between her and Gervasio, eyebrows knit just a bit. He looked strained around the mouth. "I'll come back later—"

"Don't be a damn idiot. Come on in. Ms. Scorpion ma'am and me are just getting acquainted."

"You know, my given name is less of a mouthful." Bianchi kept her eyes on Davide, studying his reactions. He wasn't quite meeting her eyes, and she wondered what her father had said to upset him so.

"But this suits you more." Gervasio raised his voice. "Davide. Seriously, get in here. We were talking about you anyway. Might as well do it to your face."

That made Davide's mouth tighten even further. Bianchi thought she could guess why. She moved past him and pulled the door closed. "So. Did he order you to start courting me right away, or did he suggest that you work up to it?"

Davide's hands closed at his sides; his shoulders rose and fell once before he loosened his fists. "He suggested that I should begin by getting to know you."

"Well, at least he's not being a complete idiot." Bianchi resumed her seat as Gervasio leaned over to the accompaniment of a drawer sliding open and the clink of glass. He produced a bottle of whiskey and a pair of glasses. "All right, it's official. I like you."

"Glad to hear it." He poured a finger of whiskey as Davide cleared off the other chair and pushed it across the desk. Davide accepted the glass without comment and knocked it back, grimacing. Gervasio turned to her. "You want one?"

"Not yet." Bianchi leaned back in her seat, looking at Davide. Might as well meet this problem head-on. "Uncle Stefano tells me you've already got a woman."

Davide flinched and looked away. "Alessia. Her name is Alessia."

Just as Stefano had said. "Do you love her?"

His throat moved as he swallowed. "Very much."

"She's pretty fond of him, too." Gervasio's voice was quiet, and he was looking at his brother with a mixture of wry exasperation, fondness, and worry in his expression. "I don't think she'll be changing her mind about that any time soon."

"Then you clearly can't marry me." Bianchi raised her eyebrows at them when they looked at her. "Well, you _can't_. The Falco have already been fucked over by the boss being in love with a woman he wasn't married to. Two generations in a row will ruin us."

"I know where my duties are." Davide's voice and expression were stiff. "I would attend to them—"

"Oh, because I want to be your _duty_. Please, just sweep me off my feet with your sweet nothings." Bianchi rolled her eyes. "Honestly."

Gervasio snickered and didn't bother pretending he was doing otherwise. Davide merely looked as though he didn't know whether to be offended or relieved. "I didn't mean—"

"Of course you didn't, but good grief, man. You have to be smart, because my father wouldn't be grooming you for his heir if you weren't, not unless he's gone senile." Thought, to be fair, she wondered a little about his decision to ignore the hard lessons he'd learned with his own family. There was the possibility that he hadn't learned anything, though, and it was looking more and more likely. "Duty isn't enough to run a Family. There needs to be love, too. And it needs to be aimed at the right people." She held his eyes now, that was good. "I will accept your service, but I will not accept you as my husband. Ever."

She utterly failed to be surprised when Gervasio was the one who broke the silence after that. "Well, there you have it. Guess you're going to have to suck it up and be happy in spite of yourself."

Davide ignored his brother with what Bianchi suspected was the ease of long practice. "You're not the boss yet."

"But I will be. And I have a lot of practice in defying my father's will, you may be sure." She shrugged. "And I have my own reasons for not wanting to rush to the altar, if it's all the same to you."

Both of them looked at her more sharply then, but neither of them pressed the point. They looked at each other instead, communicating with some subtle language of eyebrows and the tilt of the head. Finally Davide looked at her again and nodded. "All right. How do you propose to work this out?"

"Don't worry about that. That's my problem." Bianchi smiled. "But believe me when I tell you I can make my feelings very clear."

Davide's mouth quirked. "I do."

"I knew you weren't stupid." Bianchi turned to the next problem. "Now. I need someone I can delegate this damn party to. Mother might have known how to throw these little affairs, but I never learned. Who's been doing this stuff since she left?"

Davide cleared his throat, looking embarrassed. "Perhaps it's better not to say—"

"His mistress," Gervasio said. "Her name's Licia Sablone."

"Ah. I wondered about that." Bianchi settled back in her chair and made herself comfortable. "Uncle Stefano mentioned her. Tell me some more about her, if you would."

Davide looked pained; clearly he had a streak of propriety about these things, and hadn't picked up that she didn't. Oh, he was going to be fun to break in, she could tell. "I'm not sure—"

"She works as an event planner," Gervasio said, blithely ignoring his brother's grimace. "She's damn good at it, too. She handles all the Falco stuff and a lot of the formal stuff in town, too. She's usually out at the house two or three evenings a week. She and the boss are pretty friendly."

"So I'd heard. I think I'd better meet her before he has a chance to talk to her about me." Bianchi tapped her fingers on knee, thinking, and glanced at Davide, struck by a thought. "And what does your Alessia do?"

"This and that." He clearly wasn't sure why she would want to know, or whether he ought to say.

"Mm, I see. I should probably meet her at some point. She should know that I have no interest in stealing her boyfriend away from her." Bianchi raised her eyebrows as he began to sputter. "Well, she should. It's the decent thing to do."

"I was going to tell her myself!"

"Some things a woman needs to hear for herself, if she's to believe them." Men, honestly. So clueless sometimes. "But first I'll worry about Ms. Sablone. One of you have her number so I can give her a call?"

Gervasio was already thumbing through a notebook; he stopped and made a note on a scrap of paper and passed it across the desk to her. "That's her office number."

"Wonderful." Bianchi tucked it into a pocket and checked the time. "Now. I'll be on my way so you gentlemen can get to work and compare notes about me. Do let me know if you have any questions I can clear up for you."

Gervasio laughed and even Davide cracked a smile, faint but true. Bianchi grinned at them and left them to it.

* * *

Bianchi wasn't entirely sure Stefano had done her any favors by having her flat packed up and moved to the Falco house, but filled her afternoon with unpacking the rest of the boxes and culling the things she wouldn't have bothered with herself anyway. It needed to be done, and calling the mysterious Licia to set up an appointment to meet had only taken a few minutes of her time.

Her father wandered by towards the end of the afternoon as she had the house staff hauling out the bags and boxes of trash and unwanted items. "So you took the green rooms," he said, standing in the door and looking in.

"Yeah." Bianchi rose and gestured him in, out of politeness.

He came in and looked around. Bianchi let him, trying not to be self-conscious of the things that she'd strewn around the front room to make it feel more like her own space—the paper crane that Haru had folded from blue and gold origami paper and a little good-luck charm that Kyouko had made for everyone when the yakuza group had gotten irritated with the Vongola, and the little resin scorpion Hayato had shoved at her two birthdays ago, his face averted from hers, with a muttered, "Happy birthday, hag." But her father didn't say anything about them, which was just as well.

"I had an aunt whose room this was," he said. "For a while."

"It's not a bad set of rooms," Bianchi murmured. "The bedroom gets the morning light."

"So it does." He glanced at her. "You didn't want your old room?"

"Too pink, from what I remember of it." Bianchi retrieved the glass of lemonade she'd been sipping. "Too much fuss to redecorate, too. This room will be fine."

He nodded at her. "Fair enough. I'll see you at dinner."

"Right." Bianchi watched him go, wondering what that had been all about. Not that there was any telling with him, sometimes.

* * *

There were three chairs at the dinner table; Bianchi refused to be exasperated by that fact, because the staff had left her chair where she'd dragged it the evening before, and placed the third chair opposite it. That and the fact that she'd beaten her father and his guest to the table were small victories, but she was willing to take what she could get.

She held onto that when she saw that it was Davide who trailed her father in. "Good evening, Miss Falco."

"Davide." Bianchi inclined her head to him, studying him from beneath her lashes. He seemed to have regained some of his equanimity since the morning, which was good, and he seemed to take some amusement from the way the seating had been rearranged, which was better.

Her father just dropped into his seat and gave her a look. "Persistent, aren't you?"

Bianchi spread her napkin across her lap. "Is there any other way to be?"

He snorted. "There comes a point when it's more graceful to admit defeat."

"I'll remember that." Bianchi gave him a sweet smile as the staff poured the wine for them. "You should, too."

Davide made a strangled sound, like a throttled laugh of disbelief. Bianchi flicked a glance at him and saw he looked half-horrified and half-entertained. Perhaps there was a sense of humor buried in there under the propriety after all. Surely his brother couldn't have gotten both portions of it.

Her father just grunted and changed the subject. "The Magri are coming to lunch on Friday like we planned. It'll be Benito and his right hand."

"Ah, good." She knew Nori; he was just as susceptible as their boss. "We'll have to see what we can wring out of them." Definitely the black sweater, and perhaps a push-up bra while she was at it.

"I doubt you're going to get much from him." Her father shook his head. "They need to make money fast. They're not going to cede enough of their profits to us to make it worthwhile to partner with them."

"Maybe, maybe not. It doesn't hurt anything to try." Bianchi shrugged as the staff put down bowls of salad for them. "Even if he doesn't agree to it, he'll go away knowing where we stand and what he'll have to do to sweeten the deal enough for us to give him the support he wants."

"She's not wrong, Boss." Davide was studying her, eyes thoughtful.

Perhaps that meant he'd calmed down enough to be able to think again. Just as well if he was; panic was so rarely productive.

"That's just basic logic." Her father was clearly much less inclined to be impressed. "Any child would know that."

He was eating better this evening; Bianchi wondered whether she should be pleased by that or not. At least Davide's presence made it easier to remember to keep a grip on her temper. "Everyone has to begin somewhere," she said, stabbing a tomato. "And we'll have to just see how it goes. When should we expect them?"

"One," Davide told her.

"Lovely; I'll speak to the kitchen." She could probably arrange a luncheon without causing any disasters. Probably. "Any preferences for the menu?"

"Serve what you like," her father said. "It all tastes the same."

"I won't repeat that to the kitchen," Bianchi said, as dryly as she could manage, while she watched the shadows move in Davide's eyes, haunted.

Huh. She sipped her water, watching him watch her father. Davide was genuinely fond of the old goat: it was there in the worried line of his mouth and the way his fingers toyed with the silverware.

That explained a lot, actually.

Bianchi did not let herself sigh and cast around for a way to change the topic to something safer. How would Kyouko do it...? She'd ask Davide about himself, that's how. Bianchi glanced at her father—well, he'd assume the worst no matter what she did and there was no helping that. "So, Davide." She smiled at him when he looked at her. "Is the gun your preferred weapon?"

The question caught him off-guard. He blinked and said, "Not really."

And that was it. Bianchi suppressed her impatience and prodded him a little. "No? What is?"

He began to catch on then. "I prefer hand-to-hand." He was still looking at her like he wasn't sure what her point was.

Her father looked like he couldn't decide whether to be pleased or horrified by her choice of topic. Served him right for playing matchmaker, Bianchi thought, and asked, "Are you any good?"

Davide startled her with a brief smile. "I'm not bad."

"Hm. 'Not bad,' he says." Bianchi permitted herself a sip of wine and glanced at her father. "So is that the genuine truth, or the kind of modesty that covers up being an absolute terror?"

The question distracted him from having to decide whether to frown or not. "More the absolute terror." Davide murmured some demurral and her father rolled his eyes. "He and Stefano have been known to go a few rounds with each other."

"Ah, I see." A few rounds? Then Davide had to be decent, if not better. "Good. We'll have to spar sometimes soon." She never had been one to believe that a fight was the best way to get to know someone new, but it was one of the most direct ways of doing it. More to the point, the fact that he was staring at her, clearly caught off-guard by the suggestion, said a lot, too. "What? Hitman, remember?"

"You've been at some pains to remind us all of that, yes." Her father seemed to have settled on being ruefully amused; it was better than the alternative. "That said, you probably should refrain—"

Then again, maybe not. "Yeah, how about we just not have this argument again? You know I'm going to keep on the way I have been." Bianchi kept her eyes on Davide. "So how about it?"

He was sensible enough to actually think about it before he answered. "Would you even take no as an answer?"

"If I thought you had a good reason for it, probably." But if he sparred with Stefano, he _had_ to have a taste for it buried in there somewhere. Uncle Stefano didn't have any patience for people who wouldn't fight seriously.

"Bianchi—" Her father stopped and then passed a hand over his face. When he spoke again, his voice was plaintive. "Why _weren't_ you a boy?"

Bianchi controlled the immediate urge to wince. "Karma's retroactive? Or something." She kept the retort as airy as she could manage, considering.

"Perhaps it is."

Davide's eyes darted back and forth between them. "Yes," he said, after a moment. "I'll spar with you whenever you like, Miss Falco."

"Wonderful." That deserved another sip of wine while she thought about where to steer the direction of the conversation next.

"Are you that fond of hand-to-hand?" he asked.

That worked, too. "Not really, but it's what's most suited to my talents. Though I do have a good throwing arm, or so I've been told." Yamamoto had seemed impressed by how accurately she could lob a mess of poison cooking at a target, anyway. He ought to have known, after all.

"I wondered," he said. "You're a very good shot."

Bianchi shrugged. "That's just common sense. Who doesn't know how to shoot a gun?"

"Sometimes I wonder," her father grunted, pushing the remains of his salad aside. "Some of the young ones don't seem to know a trigger from a hole in the ground."

"I think we could encourage more training," Davide murmured.

"It's not a matter of training. It's about motivation."

It had the sound of a well-rehearsed argument; Bianchi let them have it, listening to the thrust and parry of it absently as the staff cleared their salad plates and brought the main course in and contributing whenever it seemed like it was flagging. The conversation staggered along; somehow they managed to get through the rest of the meal by exchanging superficial observations without touching any of the things that lurked beneath the surface of the conversation, waiting to trip them up.

They were a mess, she decided. Really a mess. How anyone could straighten the whole thing out, she didn't quite know.

She told Dino as much when he texted her later, after she'd returned to her room and was sitting in bed with a magazine that she wasn't reading. _we are a fucking mess,_ she typed, trying to pretend that she wasn't glad he'd texted her and that she would tell him to stop right after this exchange.

_that sounds bad. what's up?_

So much for telling him to stop. Bianchi snorted. _himself is persuaded that i can't be his heir, plus my handpicked fiancé is in love with another woman and also with doing his duty._

The response was quick: _monaco y/n?_

This time it didn't hurt so much. _damn it, cavallone,_ Bianchi typed, feeling the way her mouth wanted to smile.

_just reminding you that you have options, that's all._

Bianchi shook her head and gave in to the smile. _yeah, sure. at least my prospective brother-in-law isn't bad. might actually be useful._

_yeah?_

How sad was it that _that_ was all it really took to get her pour out the rest of her day to him? Bianchi suspected that it was pretty bad and despaired of herself. He listened patiently, responding to her description of storming the weight room with a series of smiling emoticons and a brief _that's my girl!_ and more thoughtfully to her description of Gervasio—_that one sounds sharp enough to cut. could make a good ally._

_yeah, that's what i thought. still not entirely sure what made him take my side, but it's useful._ But maybe Gervasio really was that worried about his brother, who was clearly loyal enough to her father to do some damn silly things to make the old goat happy.

_could just be smart,_ Dino suggested.

_maybe. and how was your day, dear?_ she replied, before she could stomp the urge to be silly.

_i think i want to declare war on the valetti. can i?_

Bianchi raised her eyebrows at the plaintive question. _why do you want to declare war on the valetti?_

_they're a pain in my ass, that's why. tadzio is trying to expand into my territory again._

Again? Lord, when was Tadzio Valetti going to learn? Feckless boy. _maybe not a war, but a rap on the nose with a rolled-up newspaper?_

She could just imagine the dour tone he would have used for the reply: _i was thinking a shock collar._

_never work,_ she told him. _he's too vain._

_damn it_.

Bianchi chewed on her lip, thinking. The Valetti had tried to expand before under Tadzio's leadership, so it was probably time for a sharper rebuttal. _maybe it needs to be a raid. shut him down as thoroughly as you can._

_that's what i figured. i hate raids. so easy for things to go wrong._

Bianchi smiled at the blinking words. _you really are a good boss, you know that?_ So few bosses thought to worry about the lives of the people who served them.

_i do my best._

"Yeah, I know you do," Bianchi said out loud. _really need to go; gotta get some sleep._

_right, yeah, me too. sleep well._

_you too._ Bianchi stared at the string of characters for a moment and then added, swiftly, _miss you,_ before she could think better of it.

She ended up staring at his reply, _love you,_ for a long time before she made herself put the phone down and turn out the light.

* * *

When Bianchi got back from her morning run, there was a message on her breakfast tray from Alfonso that invited her to stop by his office. She bolted the roll and her coffee and hurried through her shower to oblige him.

Alfonso smiled when she presented herself to him. "Miss Bianchi! I trust you're settling in well? Are the rooms to your taste?"

Ah, so that was it. "They're lovely. Absolutely perfect."

He was clearly pleased to hear it. "Oh, wonderful. Please let me know if there's anything I can do to make them more comfortable."

"I can't imagine that there would be," she said, watching him pry himself out of his chair and reach for his ring of keys.

"You say that, but one never knows." He gave her another smile. "Now, that rascal Gervasio mentioned that you were in need of an office. It beats me that I didn't think of it myself. Must be getting old."

Bianchi stared, caught by surprise, before contriving a recovery. "Well, it didn't occur to me either, at first." That rascal Gervasio _indeed_.

She really hadn't expected anyone to accept with her bluff so easily, let alone suggest refinements for it.

"Yes, yes, but it's not your job to anticipate such things, is it?" Alfonso asked, gesturing her along ahead of him.

"Maybe not." Bianchi followed after him, keeping up with the brisk pace he set despite the creaking of his joints. "I don't recall Mother ever having had an office of her own."

"Mm." There were a lot of things hanging in that little syllable. When Bianchi glanced at him, Alfonso's expression was carefully neutral. "I believe she prefers to work in more informal settings."

"That's true." She considered it as they moved up a flight of stairs and crossed over into the business wing. "I suppose it doesn't really matter."

"Indeed." Alfonso led her along the corridor until he came to a particular polished door and unlocked it for her. The office beyond was spacious and bright with the hazy light from the windows—definitely bulletproof glass—and smelled of freshly polished furniture. The desk was not quite as imposing as her father's, though not for lack of effort, and there were a pair of comfortable-looking chairs pulled up in front of it.

Alfonso let her inspect it, standing back as she looked at the old-fashioned portraits hanging on the wall and tried out the chair sitting behind the desk. Finally she nodded. "This will be perfect." Her father's office was down the hall and around the corner; this was appropriately close. She glanced around again and added, "But perhaps not the paintings."

Alfonso smiled. "Of course. What would you prefer instead?"

Bianchi glanced at them. "Landscapes." Then she smiled, laughing at herself, and said, "See if you can find something Japanese." She had spent years in Japan with posters of Italy hanging on her walls; perhaps she was doomed to be like the cat who was always on the wrong side of the door.

"I'll see what I can find. It may be a few days." Alfonso came away from the door and produced a set of keys. "This is for the door, and this one is for the desk. There's an office adjacent to this one that's empty. It would be useful for a secretary or perhaps someone else."

Bianchi accepted the keys and murmured her thanks. A secretary or someone else? Alfonso's smile gave nothing away, but she thought they understood each other nonetheless.

Lord, if she wasn't careful, she was going to end up actually confirmed as her father's heir. Terrifying thought, that.

But there wasn't really time to dwell on that; it was time to slip down the hall to her father's office. They weren't short a coffee cup this morning, she noticed, and another chair had been added to the loose semi-circle in front of his desk. Those items might have been the source of the exasperated look he gave her as she sat down. "Good God, girl, you've barely been under this roof for two days. How have you managed to suborn my whole staff?"

Bianchi shrugged at him and accepted a cup of coffee from the girl. "Maybe I'm just cuter than you are?" Or maybe the Family really was that relieved to have an ostensible heir in the house again.

Davide and Gervasio let themselves in just in time to hear that; Gervasio cackled. "She's got you there, Boss."

Giancarlo, following them, looked as though he wanted to roll his eyes rather badly. "Good morning, Miss Bianchi."

She gave him the sweetest smile she could manage in return. He could look as sour as he pleased about her presence. Perhaps he'd finally manage to push her father into spawning again if she pissed him off enough.

It didn't occur to any of them to try to make her leave, which amused her. After a few minutes of fussing with coffee and getting settled in, Giancarlo launched the meeting with his report. When the subject turned to the status of other Families, Bianchi was careful to keep her expression bland—especially when Giancarlo mentioned that the Valetti had made a push into Cavallone territory. "It's unclear whether Cavallone is going to tolerate this or not."

"Not, I should think," Davide said, and Bianchi relaxed a little. "He's smart enough to know that Tadzio Valetti is like a weed."

Her father snorted. "He's also soft, for a Boss. If he were any kind of man, he'd have moved against the Valetti months ago."

"He was trained by Reborn." Bianchi kept her voice clinical. "Who is an idealist, in his own way. Cavallone prefers to avoid risking his people in outright conflict unless it becomes absolutely necessary." And that despite enjoying the actual fighting itself. Or perhaps it was _because_ he enjoyed the fighting.

"Like I said. Soft." Her father shook his head. "He won't go to war this time, either."

"Probably not," Bianchi agreed. All plaintive text messages notwithstanding. "He won't tolerate it, though. I expect he'll raid the Valetti and root them out."

"That would fit his pattern," Gervasio said. He was giving Bianchi a speculative sort of look, one that disappeared as soon as she caught him at it.

"Indeed." Giancarlo cleared his throat and carried on with his briefing.

The Vongola-Cetrulli stand-off was unchanged; they talked about that briefly, wondering when the deadlock would break and reaching no conclusions. Bianchi kept her own counsel about that since no one had cared to listen to it the morning before. Her father reminded them all that the Magri were coming to lunch on Friday, and Bianchi told them that she had the hosting of it in hand. "Though it'd be useful to review our file on them," she added. "To refresh my memory on our dealings with them."

There was another round of exchanged glances before her father gave a slight nod that made Giancarlo's mouth tighten. Gervasio just grinned and said, "I'll swing that by your office later on."

Bianchi had a distinct suspicion that he'd been waiting to say something like that since he'd walked in the door. She hoped the effect on Giancarlo was what he'd wanted, because she only nodded and said, "Thank you, I would appreciate that."

Perhaps she would tell the kitchen to start sending a roll of antacids up with the morning coffee, just for Giancarlo's sake.

There was very little in the reports that had changed since the previous morning; Bianchi was inclined to blame it on the Cetrulli thing and the way it had the rest of them poised and waiting to see which way the balance of power would tip. It was just as well that things were inclined to be quiet, she thought. She had other things to worry about.

None of the morning's orders went to her. Bianchi failed to be surprised by that, and merely set her coffee cup aside as the clock on the wall struck a quarter till the hour. "I hate to leave early, but I have an appointment to get to. Party business, you know."

Davide looked rather pained at the reminder and Gervasio was fighting down a grin, but neither Giancarlo nor her father seemed to see anything of interest in that. Their problem and not hers, Bianchi decided, and tipped her head when her father murmured a bored dismissal.

Alfonso's people had removed the paintings while she was out, which made Bianchi smile and hope the old goat paid Alfonso what he was worth.

She called down to the kitchen for coffee and pastries and passed the time waiting for Sablone to show up by investigating her new desk; it was already stocked with stationery and pens and a sleek laptop that made the battered old thing she'd been hauling around look like a child's toy.

It was nice to have so many luxuries to play with after doing without them for so long. And, she reminded herself, not a good idea to get too used to having them.

Sablone arrived promptly on the hour, ushered in by one of the staff and followed by a girl with the coffee and pastries. Bianchi rose and welcomed her in, sizing her up as the girl arranged the refreshments for them. Licia Sablone was built like a songbird, petite and graceful, with long dark hair coiled at her nape and soft tendrils of it framing the grey of her eyes. She was beautiful and elegant, and her hand was very soft against the calluses on Bianchi's palm. "Ms. Sablone. Thank you for coming."

"It was my pleasure." Even her voice was lovely, smooth and low.

It was no wonder people thought her father had taken this woman for his mistress.

Sablone took a seat and a cup of coffee and Bianchi let her new chair fold itself around her as the girl went out. They stared at each other across the expanse of the desk for several seconds, until Bianchi said, "I appreciate your coming on such short notice." Redundant with the thanks she'd already given the woman, but so what? She'd never had to do something like this before. "Gervasio tells me that you've been the one to handle planning the Falco's parties for these past few years."

Sablone's lips curved, a perfect bow of unsmudged red despite the coffee she was sipping. "I suppose I have. It's my business, you know."

So many ways to interpret that, so little time. "Yeah, so I hear." To hell with this. "So we're going to be having a party on the twenty-seventh. Sort of a coming out and a celebration of me coming home and all. I don't have the least clue how to put it together."

One of Sablone's carefully plucked eyebrows went up. "Am I here because of that?"

"Pretty much." Bianchi slouched in her seat and reached for her coffee. After a fortifying sip, she carried on. "I could try to put it all together myself, but I don't know how. And I don't have the time to learn right now."

Sablone blinked once, slowly. "And here I thought you were calling me in to tell me my services would no longer be needed."

Her tone was so carefully neutral that Bianchi gave her another look, a sharper one. Sablone met her eyes steadily, giving nothing away. But it was a valid assumption. "Yeah," Bianchi said, after thinking it through, "I guess I can see why you would have thought that. Is it a problem that I'm not firing you?"

"Hardly. The Falco are my largest account." That was disarmingly frank. So was the way Sablone added, "I did wonder how you cleared this with Luciano."

And it became clear that Licia Sablone had claws. Interesting. "I'm not sure it's occurred to him yet that I should even know you exist outside the abstract, let alone the fact that I might actually find it helpful to work with you."

Sablone gave her a long look, then. "You're not at all like I expected you to be."

Bianchi selected a tartlet and popped it into her mouth. When she'd swallowed, she asked, "What did you expect?"

"I'm not sure. Someone jealous on her mother's behalf, perhaps." Sablone's eyes measured her, thoughtfully. "Someone who might be eager to remove her father's mistress."

Right, time to counter that assumption before Sablone could assume too much. "He hasn't kept a mistress since Gokudera Haruka died." Bianchi shrugged. "What goes on between my parents is between them. As is what goes on between my father and me, and between my father and you. And none of that matters against what's necessary for the Family. I need this party to go off well, and so does the Falco."

Sablone's mouth curved again, slow, like a flower blooming. "Very businesslike of you." The note of approval in her voice made it clear that she considered that a compliment. "Well, then." She set her coffee aside and reached into her briefcase for an electronic planner and a stylus. "Tell me what you're thinking."

Bianchi kept her relief strictly internal. "It should be a major affair. All the prominent Families should be invited."

Sablone made a few quick entries on her planner. "First and second tier Families? Or is this going to be an all-encompassing gesture?"

Bianchi considered it. "First-tier Families," she decided, considering the directions her father had given her. "We'll treat this as a formal coming out."

"Mm, very well." Sablone made some more notes. "So the bosses and their immediate families. That suggests a formal dinner and a dance. We'll need to get the invitations out right away." She frowned, drawing the perfect line of her brows together. "I can have an emergency printing of invitations by tomorrow evening. Can you have them filled out and signed by Friday evening?"

"I don't know. We're meeting the Magri Friday afternoon."

"It will have to be Saturday, then, at the very latest." Sablone was still frowning. "If you can get Luciano to put his signature on the cards, it would be best. Otherwise, ask Gervasio. He has a fairly good hand when it comes to approximating your father's signature." Bianchi grimaced and Sablone smiled. "Yes, yes, I know, but it's a polite fiction."

"Still," Bianchi said.

"We only do it for parties. Luciano usually doesn't care to be bothered about them." Sablone tapped her stylus against the screen. "A formal dinner, say at seven, and dancing after. The weather will be warm; the south ballroom might be the best, since it opens out on the lemon groves." She glanced at Bianchi, after a moment Bianchi realized she was waiting for approval and nodded. "Good. Do you have a preference on the menu?"

"Not really. I'll leave that to the kitchen."

"Wise of you. Your chef is very good." Sablone made some more notes.

"Do you work directly with the staff?" Bianchi asked as she did.

Sablone smiled, teeth showing white between her lips. "We've created a good rapport over the years."

"That's good," Bianchi said. Someone had to do it, after all. "Will you continue working for the Falco like this?"

Sablone looked up then. "Does the Falco want me?"

"The Falco is going to need you." Bianchi spread the fingers of a hand. "I'm not interesting in planning parties. I'll overlook things. If I had someone to handle them for me, it would set my mind at ease."

Sablone looked at her for a long moment before she finally nodded. "Then I'll be happy to stay on."

Bianchi sighed, relieved and not minding if the woman saw it. "Good. Very good." There was one less headache to worry about, anyway.

"I take it that you're not planning on following in your mother's footsteps."

Bianchi snorted at the idea. "Yeah, not so much." Maybe, once upon a time, if she'd grown up differently, if her mother had managed to have a son of her own, maybe if Hayato hadn't gotten the wrong idea about what had happened to his mother... "This will be a better fit for me." For as long as it lasted, anyway.

Sablone was still looking at her. There was no telling what she was thinking. Finally, she said, "What sorts of decorations would you like?"

Bianchi turned her attention to that, since it didn't matter _what_ Sablone thought of her as long as she was willing to plan parties for the Falco.

* * *

She was doubly grateful for that fact nearly an hour later, after Sablone had wrung out nearly every possible preference from her regarding flowers and music and color schemes, favors and seating arrangements, place cards and wines and the _lighting_ for fuck's sake, till Bianchi had a headache from it all and was wondering whether they really had to have a party at all. When Sablone finally tapped her stylus against the planner's screen and said, "That should be everything," Bianchi groaned and rubbed her forehead. "Thank _God_."

Sablone laughed, soft and silky. "You really _don't_ care for this, do you?"

"I'd rather be planning a war." Bianchi slid her fingers through her hair. "Which I would be doing if I'd tried to do this myself. I totally would've forgotten about the Ruscitti and the Barassi." They hadn't been at open war in years, having settled in a cold truce after nearly wiping each other out, but that didn't mean one could sit them next to each other, as Sablone had pointed out.

"You would have managed."

"Please. No need to be polite on my account." Bianchi sat up, rolling her shoulders. "I know what my strengths are. This isn't one of them."

"Well, perhaps not." Sablone inclined her head. "Will you need any assistance on the day of? With hair or makeup?"

"...should probably get someone in to do my hair," Bianchi conceded. Sablone's mouth pursed, just a bit. "I _can_ do my own makeup. I just don't wear it from day to day."

Sablone didn't seem to be entirely reassured. "I know someone who I could send around on the twenty-seventh." She paused, hesitating. "I believe you visited the Bastiani the other day?"

"Yes, I'm getting new clothes made." Bianchi glanced down at her utilitarian slacks and shirt, which contrasted sharply with Sablone's tailored suit. "I can dress better than this, if I have to." She just wasn't in the habit of it, and hadn't needed to be for a while.

"And now you do." Sablone was giving her a steady look. "You will need to, if you mean to go on like this."

For a split-second, Bianchi was tempted to snap that Sablone was neither her mother nor her step-mother. She suppressed the urge. "I suppose you're right. I'd better get back into the habit of it."

"I know someone who might be able to come out and give a consultation."

Bianchi considered Sablone's gentle tone and the steel beneath it and sighed. "Yes, do that. Tomorrow afternoon, perhaps. The sooner the better." Any advantage she could lay hands on would be useful.

"I'll see when she's available." Sablone made another note in her planner; there was no mistaking the note of approval in her voice. "I'll let you know when will be good for her."

"I appreciate it," Bianchi said.

Sablone looked up, eyes amused. "Mm." She tucked the planner away. "I suppose you know that I usually visit on Thursday evenings."

"I know now." Bianchi laced her fingers together. "Will I see you at dinner?"

"I suppose you will, if you're in the habit of eating with him."

"Of course. The Family that breaks bread together stays together. Or something like that." Bianchi could feel the bitter crook of her mouth. "Well! This should be fun."

"Ms. Falco." Sablone's voice was quiet. "Now that you are here, you must realize that you could end this."

Bianchi looked away from the opaqueness in Sablone's eyes. "Maybe," she said. "Maybe I could. Do you want me to?" She rather hoped not; Sablone had the right sorts of qualities to make a proper mafia wife and was definitely young enough to pop out a kid or two.

"Not exactly." When Bianchi glanced at her, Sablone raised her chin a bit. "I am... fond of him, I suppose. I... think of him as a friend. And his friendship has been generous." She drew a breath. "And he needs friends. He does not have many."

...fond of the old goat? Huh. Well, that was good for her purposes, anyway. "I suppose most bosses don't." Bianchi shook her head. "I told you before. What's between you, and him, and my mother—all that is your business, not mine. I might be worried about acquiring a new sibling, but I've been given to understand that this isn't a concern."

Sablone let out a breath. "No. You needn't worry about that."

Bianchi looked at her, wondering just how much Sablone wished that it were otherwise. Well. Things were beginning to look up, weren't they? Not that Sablone would expect her to think that. "Well, good. Hayato's enough of a handful on his own." She shrugged. "Anyway. If you want to continue on, then I'm not going to stand in your way. I think it reassures the Family, anyway... a bit of insurance, just in case things with me and Davide fall through."

Sablone gave her a sharp look; it was Bianchi's turn to keep her face smooth and bland. Finally Sablone smiled. "You won't take this as a compliment, but you're very like Luciano in some ways."

Bianchi found herself drawing a breath that cut her throat. "Am I?"

"You're very shrewd. And very ruthless, in your own way." Sablone nodded. "Good things in hitmen, I suppose. Or in a boss." She tucked her planner away. "I will have someone send a proof of the invitations over this afternoon, Ms. Falco."

"You may as well call me by name."

Sablone paused in the act of closing her briefcase. "I—if you would prefer." She inclined her head. "Please feel free to call me Licia."

"Thank you. I suppose I'll see you tomorrow evening." Bianchi rose with her and leaned across the desk to offer Licia her hand. "I appreciate your visit. I look forward to working with you."

Licia took her hand again; there was a thoughtful look around her eyes. "The feeling is mutual."

* * *

By the time her every other breath was turning into a yawn, Bianchi had just about decided that Dino wasn't going to be texting her that evening after all. She was reaching for the light when her phone finally did buzz. _you still awake?_

_no,_ she replied.

The reply came back so quickly that it was full of typing errors; eventually she figured out that it said, _shit, did i wake you up? sorry!_

Bianchi stifled her yawn. _joking, idiot._

_oh, that's good. still sorry._

Silly man. _don't worry about it. business?_

_sort of. with the vongola. the cetrulli are moving._

Bianchi sucked in a breath. _war?_ Maybe that was what had kept her father so grim at dinner—he'd been so preoccupied that he hadn't said more than ten words to her before excusing himself. Surely he would have said something—maybe he would have said something—_shit_.

_they're trying. tsuna's standing firm but the vongola are gearing up. still with them but wanted to check in with you._

Bianchi smiled in spite of herself. _sentimental._

_you're more fun to talk to. everything okay?_

_met the mistress, planned a party, getting a makeover. keep the 27th free._ Stupid, inane sorts of things when compared to things finally shaking loose between the Vongola and the Cetrulli.

His reply made her laugh. _why would you need a makeover? you're gorgeous._

_and bless your heart for saying so._

_well you are._ Before she could do more than smile helplessly at that, another text came through. _gotta go. love you._

Bianchi drew a sharp breath, but—fuck it. He was probably in the middle of the Vongola's plans, whatever they were. _me too. be careful._

The only thing that came back was a set of hugely grinning emoticons. Bianchi snorted at that, plugged the phone into its charger, and turned out the lamp.

And promptly starting wondering about what the hell was going on and whether the old goat had kept it a secret from her. God only knew, with him.

Then she thought of her brother and groped for the phone in the darkness to send him a message. _hear things are getting hot. don't get yourself killed, ok?_

She didn't expect a reply but got one anyway. _wtf did you do to cavallone? he was okay 5 minutes ago and now he's an idiot._

Bianchi could just imagine. _trade secret._

_right._ She could just about see the skeptical look on Hayato's face. _you okay?_

Bianchi gave the question the thought it deserved. _yeah, i'm okay._ All things considered, anyway, for as long as it took.

_that's good. tell me if you need anything._

_you too._ And that was that.

Bianchi curled herself up under the covers, sleepiness banished as she pondered what was going on and how she could do a better job of getting information out of her father's people, if it turned out he was keeping secrets. Gervasio would probably be the one to talk to about that, and maybe his brother. Uncle Stefano, too.

She drifted off to sleep making plans.

* * *

Bianchi stopped by Gervasio's office after her breakfast and wasn't surprised to find him there, sorting through papers, though God only knew how he made sense of the mess on his desk. "You have some time today I could borrow?"

He looked up from the folder he was thumbing through and gave her a bright smile. "For you, Ms. Scorpion ma'am? I have the whole day."

Still with the nickname. Bianchi smiled in spite of herself. "That's generous of you, but not quite necessary. My office after the meeting work?"

He nodded. "Sure thing."

That much was easy. Her father merely grunted at her when she joined him in his own office; apparently the previous evening's dark mood was lingering. Well, let him brood if he wanted. Bianchi let him be and busied herself with her coffee until Davide and Gervasio came sauntering in, exchanging casual greetings with her and with her father. Then Giancarlo finally came in.

The first thing he did was give her a father a searching look, one that made Bianchi think, _He's worried about something_. "Good morning, Boss."

But why should he be worried? Aside from the Cetrulli thing, which didn't exactly affect the Falco directly.

"Oh, how was your trip into town, Boss?" Davide asked as Giancarlo accepted his coffee and the girl went out.

"It was fine." Her father's voice was clipped and Giancarlo shot Davide a narrow look. Bianchi kept her own frown to herself. What business would the old goat have had in town? And why hadn't anyone mentioned it yesterday? "Let's get on with it, please."

The first item on Giancarlo's agenda was the Cetrulli's move against the Vongola, which mystified Bianchi a little further, since he treated it as fresh news. Bianchi suspected they'd all heard about it one way or another, but if her father hadn't been worried over that, then what _was_ preying on his mind?

No point in worrying about it now; it was more important to pay attention to the details of how the Cetrulli had raided one of the Vongola's gambling operations. Reports from their people suggested that the damage was primarily fiscal, though the Cetrulli had taken the Vongola's people and turned them over to the police in such a public and showy way that there was little chance that the Vongola could extricate them easily or secretly.

Bianchi had to admit, it had been neatly done, perfectly calculated to test Tsuna's ability to lead his Family and deal with their world, and a precisely-aimed insult to boot. And, despite what the other four thought, it still wasn't enough to start a war over.

Giancarlo, of course, thought otherwise. "The Vongola have been busy since the word came in yesterday morning, and we believe they have the Cavallone with them. I expect that their retribution will come before the end of the week."

"And the Vongola and the Cetrulli go to war." Her father snorted. "Again. You'd think they'd be tired of it by now."

"They won't go to war yet." Bianchi shook her head. "No one's dead."

Davide frowned at her. "But the Cetrulli have insulted the Vongola."

"So? Tsuna's used to being insulted, poor guy." Bianchi shrugged. "He doesn't take that stuff to heart. Look, the Cetrulli will need to actually kill his people. That's what it really takes to make him angry. Trust me on this, I know the kid, and he prefers not to shed blood unless he has to." But once he was pushed that far, once he had no other choice, he could act with startling decisiveness.

Not that anyone in this timeline had ever heard the names Byakuran or Millefiore. Or ever would.

They were all looking at her, varying degrees of skepticism on their faces. Bianchi sighed. "You'll see."

"Somebody will see," Davide agreed, diplomatically enough.

Bianchi buried her frustration in her coffee as the subject turned to other matters. When the meeting drew to a close and her father dismissed them, she didn't rise from her seat, ignoring both Giancarlo's cough and her father's pointed look, until he gestured and the others went out. "Trip into town?"

"A doctor's appointment. Nothing for you to be concerned about." His tone was flat, suggesting that further discussion was highly unwelcome.

Fuck that. "You look like you feel like hell."

His frown deepened. "It will pass."

Doctor's appointment. Treatments. Of course. "I see." Ah, to hell with it, she needed to know. "How bad is it, really?"

"Manageable, and being managed, thank you very much." He sighed. "And discussing it doesn't do any good, so I'd really prefer not to pursue the topic any further, if you please. As a special favor to me."

"Will you tell me if it changes?" She didn't quite recognize the harsh note in her own voice at first, and was startled to realize that it was something like concern.

Her father looked surprised, too. "I hadn't thought you'd care."

Well, of course she had to care. God forbid that he die too soon. Yeah. That's what it was. "There are a lot of things you don't tell me that I'd like to know."

He considered that point and finally inclined his head, acknowledging the point. "When it changes, I'll let you know."

When, she noted, not if. Was it that bad? Great, something new to worry about.

But she'd presumed enough on his tolerance for the morning. She set her coffee cup aside and nodded her head at him. "Thanks."

Gervasio was lounging against the way across from her office, waiting for her when she emerged from her father's office, and followed her down the hall to her own. "So," he said when he was settled in the chair across from her desk, "what can I do for you?"

"I'm flying in the dark." Bianchi folded her hands under her chin, looking at him. "I need to know what's happening when it happens, not the morning after." Whether she really intended to be the next Falco boss or not, she had to have information to work with while she was here. "And it's not like I can tap into the networks I built while I was outside the Family, at least not easily." And certainly not if she were going to have to tolerate a bodyguard every time she stepped foot outside of the house. Some of the people she had worked with as a hitman tended to get twitchy around bodyguards.

Gervasio looked wary; well, she already knew he wasn't stupid. "I can't go behind the boss's back—"

"And I wouldn't ask you to. But I need access to more information than I've got. News about important events. Our files on the other Families." Bianchi paused. "Someone to tell me when important meetings are happening, _before_ they happen."

He got the point immediately. "Well, now." Gervasio ran long fingers over his chin, considering it. "That doesn't sound unreasonable."

"I'm glad to hear it."

He grinned. "I bet you are." He drummed his fingers against his knee. "Well. I believe I have some folders in my office that you might be able to borrow."

Bianchi traded his smile for one of her own. "Splendid. Why don't we go have a look through them right now?"

* * *

By the time she went down to dinner, Bianchi's head felt stuffed full of the things she'd sieved out of the folders Gervasio had lent her. Even with the break she'd taken in the middle of the afternoon to consult with Licia's stylist, it was a relief to get away from her desk. Not even the prospect of being a part of her father's tête-à-tête with Licia Sablone couldn't quite dim that relief.

Not that she was going to let on that she wasn't looking forward to dinner with the two of them, when Licia herself didn't seem the least bit discomfited by her presence. Licia greeted her warmly, shaking her hand. "Bianchi. Good evening." She inspected Bianchi's face and the subtle makeup that Bianchi and Elisabetta had settled on and nodded her approval.

At least the two hours of dabbling with makeup and mirrors had been worth something. "Licia." Bianchi slid into her seat. "How's the party work going?"

Licia didn't comment on the rearranged chairs around the table as she took the one opposite Bianchi's. "Very well, thank you. We ordered the food today and began screening the extra staff we'll be hiring for that evening."

"Sounds thrilling." Bianchi couldn't help how drily that came out.

Licia's answering smile was just as wry. "I'm sure I'd find whatever it was you did all day equally frustrating."

Bianchi laughed as her father came in. She thought he might have looked just a touch taken aback to see the two of them already in conversation, but he covered it quickly enough. "Good evening."

Licia received a perfunctory peck on the cheek before he sat down. Bianchi supposed it was a nod to their supposed relationship, but she didn't think "fondness" entirely covered the way Licia's eyes softened as she greeted the old goat. "Luciano."

Her father glanced at Bianchi. "And have you introduced yourself to Ms. Sablone yet?"

"Oh, we met yesterday, actually." Bianchi made it as airy as she could manage. "We had a nice talk about the party, didn't we?"

"Indeed." Licia's smile was serene. "She's just as sensible as you are, and knows when to stand back and let me get on with my job."

Bianchi would have been hard-put to say who was more baffled by that comparison, her or her father, but he recovered first. "Well, that's... nice."

The staff saved them from the awkwardness of the moment by coming in to fill their glasses and place their salads in front of them. Unfortunately, that gave her father a moment to think. He fixed a look on Bianchi. "If you aren't working on the party, then what on earth are you doing with yourself?"

"Catching up on my reading." Bianchi speared a tomato with her fork and bit into it. When she'd swallowed, she added, "Missed a lot of Falco history and business while I was away." To say the least. She'd stayed as far away from jobs that had the least hint of the Falco about them as she could manage, wanting nothing at all to do with her former Family. In retrospect, perhaps she shouldn't have indulged that fit of pique so extensively.

"I _see_."

Yes, Bianchi suspected he saw very well, and was simply postponing the discussion while Licia was at the table. Well, let him brood on it. It wasn't like he was eating anything, so he had to do something with his time.

"You were away for quite some time." Licia smiled across the table at Bianchi, polite. "May I ask what you did while you were gone?"

Yes, her eyes said, I have a good idea what that was, but we have to talk about _something_, don't we?

"I was in training." It was easy enough to say with a straight face, though it probably helped that she'd practiced it. "And I was learning about Family politics from a practical perspective." Bianchi took a sip of her water. "I also spent some time abroad with the Vongola."

The best part of it all was that it was perfectly true, from a certain perspective. Uncle Stefano always had said that the best lies came out of the truth.

"That sounds very exciting, especially the time with the Vongola." Licia was all polite attention; bless her for being a better conversationalist than Davide. "Were you with them in Japan? That must have been lovely."

"Parts of it were," Bianchi said, judicious. "I was busy a lot of the time, of course, but parts of it were... very enjoyable."

"Oh? Tell me about it."

And with that bit of gentle prodding, Bianchi found her self describing Namimori and the people she'd met there for them. She supposed there wasn't any harm in it, as long as she kept to the stories of day-to-day life. There were plenty of those, of course. Working as Tsuna's part-time tutor and full-time bodyguard and more or less living with his family had supplied her with any number of anecdotes.

Licia confessed that she was an only child, but countered Bianchi's description of Lambo and the noodle incident with the story of a cousin's unfortunate brush with a pot of glue, several tubes of glitter, and the family's new car. Even her father laughed at that story as he picked at his chicken.

All told, it wasn't as unpleasant a meal as Bianchi had feared it would be. Thank God for small mercies, she decided, even if watching the way Licia's attention constantly turned to her father confirmed what she'd suspected. Whatever her father thought about it, Licia was probably in love with him. Poor woman.

But there was still time for it to all come out right, Bianchi thought, and excused herself from desert to allow them time to conduct their supposed affair in peace.

* * *

Dino hadn't had time to do more the night before than text her briefly to say that he was still busy with the Vongola. Nothing had changed when Bianchi presented herself at the morning meeting, either, and she held her tongue during the brief, desultory discussion of what the Vongola would do when they struck. She was more preoccupied with how easy it was becoming to slide into the house's routine and into her own bluff. But that was the trouble with working under cover; the deeper one went, the more difficult it was to remember what was a cover and what wasn't.

In Japan, there had been times when she'd almost forgotten that she wasn't really Reborn's overprotective girlfriend.

At least the lunch with Benito Magri and his right hand promised to break things up just a bit, though her father looked appalled when she rejoined them shortly before one. Giancarlo's eyes bulged just a bit and Davide didn't seem to quite know where to put his eyes.

Gervasio just whistled, long and low. "Those really _are_ some nice assets, Ms. Scorpion ma'am."

Bianchi glanced down, regarding her cleavage and the way the cashmere of her sweater clung to every curve of her chest. It had been worth every penny she'd scraped together to purchase it, she thought fondly. "Thank you," she murmured, demure, and smoothed her hands over the skirt she'd paired with it, the one that highlighted her silhouette perfectly.

Her father found his voice then, grating out, "Gervasio! That's my daughter you're talking about!"

"Just admiring our tactical advantage, Boss." Gervasio's voice was solemn, though his eyes were not. "It's a purely academic admiration, I promise."

"Miss Bianchi, aren't you... shouldn't you cover up?" Giancarlo sounded positively pained.

"That would completely defeat the purpose of my being here, Uncle Giancarlo." Bianchi glanced at the time, and smiled. "Besides, I expect they're here."

He said something, not _quite_ under his breath. Bianchi ignored it, because she'd been called much worse in her time, and pasted her most vacuous smile on her face as the staff ushered Benito Magri and his right hand, Arturo Nori, in. Now to let them see what she could do and what kind of boss she might make. With any luck, they'd understand how badly they needed to get the old goat to have another kid.

"It's so _nice_ to meet you again," she enthused when her father introduced her to Magri, clasping his hand between her own. It was tempting the hold it against her chest, but she decided not to in the end. Better to hold that in reserve, in case they needed it later.

It didn't matter, anyway. Magri was every bit as riveted by her décolletage as she'd recalled him being. Nori wasn't much better off, though he seemed to be more of a leg man, judging by the way his eyes lingered there. Well, that worked too.

Best of all, Giancarlo already looked like he had a headache. Old prude.

Fortunately, despite Giancarlo's brewing migraine and her father's frowning bemusement, Davide and Gervasio managed to steer the lunchtime conversation about the Magri's interest in expanding their operations in cooperation with the Falco. Bianchi listened, flattering Magri outrageously and practicing her deep breathing. "Oh," she said, as Davide pushed for a larger percentage of the Magri's proposed profits and Magri made a vague attempt to demur, "are you sure you can't spare that much for us?" She leaned closer to Magri, not _quite_ batting her eyelashes at him. "I'd thought that the Magri holdings were much larger than that. They always seemed so impressive to me."

She thought that Gervasio must have been chewing on his tongue to keep from laughing; Davide looked like he was damn near blushing. But it worked—Magri puffed up just the way she'd thought he would. "Of course we can spare that!" he proclaimed, smoothing his mustache down. "We can spare twice that!"

Bianchi widened her eyes appropriately and cooed while Davide pounced on that opening. "Then the percentage we're requesting is really quite reasonable, don't you think?"

Magri fingered his mustache as Bianchi leaned over, freshening his coffee for him, and said, distractedly, "Oh, it's very nice."

It was, as Bianchi said after they'd seen the Magri to the door, all _entirely_ too easy. She buffed her fingernails on her sweater, smiling with satisfaction.

"I have _never_ seen such shameless behavior in my _life_," her father said, voice and eyes hard.

And really, that was rather hypocritical of him; she reminded herself that she wanted a reaction in that vein and held onto her temper. "It worked," Bianchi pointed out, smiling. "I told you that Magri had a soft spot for the girls." She refrained from patting her breasts out of deference; it was possible that he might have _some_ paternal sensibilities tucked away somewhere.

Gervasio, who'd doubled over laughing the moment it had been decent to do so, wiped his eyes. "You know, if I hadn't known better, I'd have sworn she didn't have two brain cells to rub together. Damn, you should have been an actress."

Bianchi sniffed. "This is more fun." And judging by her father's grim expression, now was a good time to excuse herself to change and let him brood on her performance. "If you'll—"

Before she could get it out, one of her father's men came scrambling in. "The Vongola have started moving!"

Her father forgot about her and turned to him. "What? Details, Tanzi!"

Tanzi stopped short and straightened his back. "It happened just a little while ago, Boss. The Vongola raided one of the Cetrulli's bases, right in broad daylight, and pretty much took the place apart. They took prisoners from the highest-ranking people there. We're still working on getting the details on who."

Her father gave Bianchi one swift look, as if to say _See?_ before he asked, "How many did the Vongola kill?"

Tanzi's brow wrinkled. "That's the strange thing. Our people haven't heard that there were any fatalities. Plenty of property damage and some injuries, but no dead."

Bianchi kept her face impassive while her father quizzed Tanzi, extracting every possible detail from him, before dismissing him with instructions to keep them posted on the developments. "So much for the Vongola not going to war," he said, finally.

"Is it really a war?" Bianchi asked, keeping her voice mild. "Or is it a raid?"

Her father rolled his eyes. "I realize that you're fond of the boy, but have some sense, girl. He's only human."

"I know that." Bianchi sighed. "But excuse me. I need to go change." She gave them all a cordial smile and slipped out.

When she came down again, she passed by Gervasio's office and stopped when he hailed her. She leaned against the doorjamb. "What?"

"They found the Cetrulli people that the Vongola took just a few minutes ago."

That explained why the corridor was buzzing with her father's men. Bianchi took stock of Gervasio's grin and concluded that the Cetrulli had been found alive. "Where?"

"Sitting in the cells where the police were holding the Vongola's people." Gervasio's grin ticked a few notches wider. "All of them had notes pinned to their shirts that said, 'Just think of what we could do if we _wanted_ a war.'"

That was Tsuna all over. Bianchi smiled, slow. "I told you so."

"You did." Some of Gervasio's grin faded away. "You really did mean everything you said about Sawada, didn't you?"

"I did." Bianchi raised her eyebrows. "Did you really think I was that naïve?"

"Have to say, I really didn't know." Gervasio tilted his chair back. "What's a guy like that going to do with the Vongola?"

Bianchi smiled again. "Change the world," she told him, and left him to think about that.

* * *

_so wait, tell me more about this sweater,_ Dino texted once she'd finished describing the day.

Bianchi had to roll her eyes, even as she was laughing. _it's just a sweater, god._

There was a distinctly wheedling tone in Dino's reply. _not if it got benito magri to cede that much of his profits to the falco._

_i think that was less the sweater and more the push-up bra beneath it, to be honest._

His reply took a while. _nngh. have i told you that you're evil? because you're evil._

Bianchi grinned at that, settling herself against her pillows. _thank you._

_do you realize that now i have to try to get to sleep while visions of push-up bras and tight sweaters dance in my head?_

Bianchi had to stop laughing before she could answer that. _so sorry about that. hope you sleep well in spite of it._

_eventually, maybe. night. love you._

Bianchi let out a breath, but... _me too. sleep well._

* * *

Her father held weekly meetings with his entire cadre of underbosses on Monday afternoons. That hadn't changed since Bianchi was a child, but she was still pleased when Gervasio let her know when and where it was to happen. She was even more pleased when she arrived in the large conference room and found that there was already a seat waiting for her. Still better, there weren't any overtly hostile expressions on the faces of the men sitting around the table. She supposed the man she'd always thought of as Uncle Cosimo looked indulgent, and some of the younger bosses looked uncertain about her presence, but at least no one was outright glaring.

She was pleased that people were taking her campaign seriously until her father came in, but he only seemed to sigh when he saw her sitting there. That wasn't quite the irritation she'd been hoping for. "Gentlemen, I'm sure you all remember my daughter Bianchi. As you can see, she's decided to join us."

Good God, what was she going to do if the _old goat_ started taking her seriously? Maybe leaving him alone over the weekend hadn't been such a good idea.

Bianchi smiled around gritted teeth and nodded at the introduction, settling in to listen and take notes. Most of what they discussed were things she'd already heard in the smaller daily meetings, but some of the older business they discussed turned up interesting items.

Like the business trip her father was apparently going to be taking on Wednesday to negotiate with the Tirabassi, which only came up when Guiseppe Ettora reported on the security measures he was arranging for the trip.

Well, if she wanted to push things, that might make a good place to start.

Bianchi held her tongue through the rest of the meeting and didn't let her father out of her sight when it concluded. She dogged his steps all the way back to his office. "When were you going to tell me that we're negotiating with the Tirabassi on Wednesday?"

"We?" he echoed. "_We_ aren't doing anything. Giancarlo, Davide, and I will be calling on the Tirabassi. You'll be staying here."

That stung more than she would have expected it to, which was startling. God, what if _she_ was starting to take this seriously?

Bianchi clasped her hands behind her back to keep herself from doing anything she might regret. "And just what is your reason for that, if I may be so bold?"

"Because, despite your lately discovered sense of duty to the Falco, you're inexperienced, uninformed, and not ready to attend negotiations. You are also distinctly unprofessional. I shudder to think of your embarrassing me in front of the Tirabassi as you did with the Magri." He raised his eyebrows. "Is that enough, or should I go on?"

All her careful considerations about bluffing and her plans swept away before the insult; she had done a _damn_ good job on Benito Magri. How _dare_ he dismiss that? How _dare_ he call her unprofessional? Rage closed on Bianchi like a vise. "Embarrassed you? I got you what you wanted."

"In the single most disgraceful way possible." His voice cut like a scalpel. "I do not pretend to guess what sort of behavior you were accustomed to while you were living on your own, but I can tell you that I expect you to behave with more decorum than that from now on."

She could feel the blood leaving her face. "Or what? Just what do you propose to do with me if I don't?" Bianchi knew she'd lost her temper and didn't care. "Throw me out? Again?" Just whose fault did he think it was that she'd lived so long on her own, so very indecorously?

"I would think of something." He drew a breath and glared up at her. "For God's sake, girl, all I'm asking for is that you have a little dignity. And for you to act as like you understand who you are."

"That's funny, that's what I thought I was doing!"

"I haven't named you my heir yet," he retorted. "And while I've tolerated your activities on that front, they are by no means official. Kindly do not forget who wears the Falco ring."

"Good God, how could I forget when you keep reminding me?" Bianchi snarled.

"I wonder, sometimes." He pressed his lips together. "In any case, this discussion is over. When you've established that I can rely on your behavior to be appropriately circumspect, perhaps then I will permit you to accompany me to future negotiations with other Families."

"Oh, _fuck you_!" Bianchi turned on her heel before she could be tempted to feed him a fistful of poison cooking and slammed the door so hard behind her that the walls rattled.

* * *

By the time Bianchi had calmed down enough to be able to think again, her arms felt like limp noodles and every man in the gym was ignoring the corner with the punching bag with a pointed sort of respect. And Uncle Stefano was straddling a chair nearby, watching her quietly. "Heck of a workout, kiddo," he said when he'd caught her eye. "Better take some time to cool off now. Let's walk it off."

It was no less a command for how sympathetic his voice was. Bianchi nodded and let him guide her onto the indoor track. They walked a lap in silence before he said, "Wanna talk about it?"

"You know what's worse than actually being useless?" Bianchi pushed on without waiting for him to answer. "It's someone telling you that you're useless, treating you like you are, and then following it all up by telling you that you're unladylike, to boot."

"Can't say as I ever had anyone tell me I was unladylike," he mused.

"I don't recommend it." Bianchi glared at the track ahead of them. "So apparently the Magri thing was an _embarrassment_, and I'm not fit to be trusted to negotiate with the Tirabassi."

Stefano made an enlightened sound; she caught his glance at her from the corner of her eye. "I did hear about the Magri thing."

"I got the job done," Bianchi muttered. And, now that she had worked the immediate rage out of her system, she supposed that she'd gotten some of the other job done, too. She wanted the old goat to think she was unfit for leading the Falco. She _did_, damn it. It was stupid to be disappointed that he was buying it, stupid to want him to approve of her when he never had before. "That's what matters."

"You did. But being a boss isn't like being a hitman. How you get the job done counts as much as getting it done in the first place."

Bianchi gritted her teeth and forced herself to consider the gentle criticism. "I'm not ashamed of what I did. And I'm not going to even think about pretending to be a demure lady." That really _would_ make people laugh, especially if they knew anything about her.

"Not going to say you should." Stefano's tone turned measured then. "But you may need to pull back a bit."

Bianchi scowled. "Fuck." She ran a hand through her sweaty hair. "Fuck. I guess I can try." Or not, and let her father suck on that.

"Good. Now, about the Tirabassi trip." She saw him raise an eyebrow. "Use your brain, kiddo. You know perfectly well that you shouldn't go on that trip, regardless of your manners."

Bianchi drew a breath. "A boss and his heir. Together. Not in their own territory." She grimaced. "Like a pair of sitting ducks."

"God forbid it, but. Yes." Stefano shook his head. "One of you would have needed to stay home, regardless of other things."

What a depressing thought, however true it was. Bianchi sighed. "What really gets me is that he didn't even say anything about this trip coming up." That still rankled, regardless of how she felt about other things. She needed to know what was going on in the Family, no matter what her role in it ended up being.

"Mm. Could be that he forgot about it." Stefano snorted. "God knows he has a lot on his mind lately."

...shit. There was that. Bianchi grimaced. "Stop making so much damn sense, Uncle Stefano."

He just grinned at her. "All part of the service." He bumped a shoulder against hers, companionable. "Feeling better, baby girl?"

Bianchi sighed. "I suppose, yeah." Less full of icy rage, at any rate, which was an improvement.

"Good, good." His tone turned crisp. "Now let's talk about how foolish it is to wear yourself out like that. And about how absolutely ugly your form is."

And the worst part was how he laughed as she groaned.

* * *

Her father was icily silent at dinner, and Bianchi couldn't quite bring herself to say anything to him, so the meal passed quietly. At its close, Bianchi gritted her teeth, bowing to the logic of Uncle Stefano's little lecture, and said, "I apologize for my outburst this afternoon. I'll try to avoid embarrassing you in the future, if I can help it, as long as you realize that I'm never going to very proper." She drew a breath. "In return, I'd really rather not find out about inter-Family negotiations in business meetings with the underbosses." There. That was nice and political and would show that she was trying to make amends.

Her father gave her a long, unreadable look. "Apology accepted," he said, finally. Bianchi waited, but that was all.

She clenched her teeth and ground out, "Good night," on her way out the door.

_tell me not to kill the old goat,_ she texted Dino a little later.

_don't kill him. if you do then you'll have to take over right away._

Bianchi took a careful breath. Right. There was that. This was just to pass the time till the old goat got off his ass and sired himself a proper heir. But she was still angry. _fuck. tell me something nice. today has really sucked._

She wouldn't have expected anything to make her smile after the day she had, but his reply managed it. _you're the most beautiful, most dangerous woman i know. how's that?_

_pretty nice,_ she allowed. _a little weird, but nice._

_we're all a little weird here._

Bianchi snorted. _yeah, you can say that again._

_you going to make it?_

She sighed and rested her head against her pillow. _probably. can't promise anyone else will, though._ Except maybe Uncle Stefano, and possibly the Conti twins.

_yeah, but you're the only one i care about. screw the rest of them._

Bianchi finally gave in and laughed. _thanks for proving you've got the right perspective._

_you're welcome._


	4. Chapter 4

Notes appear in the first chapter.

**

* * *

**

**Part Four**

As satisfying as staying away from her father or giving him the silent treatment might have been, skipping out on the morning briefings would have meant letting the old goat win and Bianchi refused to do that. She presented herself at the next morning's briefing and forced herself to smile at the old bastard. If it was a little strained, well, her acting skills only went so far. When her father deigned to speak to her, it was with a sort of exquisitely chilly politeness that said more clearly than words could that he was still annoyed with her.

Gervasio stopped by Bianchi's office after the meeting. "There something wrong between you and the boss?" he asked while he handed off the new stack of folders.

"That's between me and him," Bianchi told him.

"Yeah?" he said. "Anything I can do to help?"

"Not unless you know how to get the stick out of his ass." Probably wasn't anything that could do that, though.

Gervasio snorted then. "Yeah, that's kind outside of my jurisdiction. Sorry."

"Figured." Bianchi waved one of the folders at him. "Don't worry about it. It'll be fine." Once the old goat saw that she wasn't going to back down, he'd get with the program and everything would work out.

Gervasio eyed her, but if he doubted her assessment of the situation, he elected not to say anything about it. Then the moment passed and he went on his way, letting Bianchi get to work.

Dinner was no better, passing in a mutual icy silence that wore on Bianchi's nerves and destroyed most of her appetite with how much it reminded her of the silences between the old goat and her mother. She ate anyway, cleaning her plate obstinately, and supposed that it was probably lucky for both of them that she hadn't gone through her teenaged years under her father's roof.

It was a relief not to have to face that icy silence again the next morning, since her father left for the Tirabassi meeting first thing. Bianchi wished Giancarlo and the old goat much joy of each other, felt passingly sorry for Davide's having to put up with them, and retreated to her office to work.

The first inkling that something was wrong came when she was reaching for yet another of Gervasio's folders and trying not to wonder how her father's delegation was getting on with the Tirabassi. She heard the sounds of raised voices in the corridor outside her office and raised her head, wondering what the shouting was about. She was about to go investigate when someone burst through her door. Several someones, actually, with Uncle Stefano at the head of them.

If that hadn't been enough of a sign that something was wrong, the whiteness of his face would have confirmed it. She'd seen men and women look like that before, like their whole world had just been cut out from beneath them, but she'd never seen Uncle Stefano—so famously untouchable—look like that himself.

Bianchi shut her folder and stood. "Uncle Stefano?"

Why he should look so relieved to see her, she didn't know, but suspected she wasn't going to like finding out why. "Bianchi. You need to come with me, baby girl." His voice was taut, full of things that made cold run down Bianchi's spine.

In her bag, her phone began to ring—Hayato's ringtone. Bianchi scooped it up as she went around the desk to Stefano. "What is it?" she asked, silencing the phone.

"You need to come with me." That wasn't exactly an answer, and neither was the way the men he'd brought with him were surrounding her as her phone began ringing again—Hayato, trying a second time. Bianchi silenced it again and turned off the ringer as Stefano and the cadre of—they were definitely bodyguards, she recognized Carlo—escorted her out of her office.

There was no reason to surround her with bodyguards, not in the Falco house itself, not unless she was under arrest—but no, the grim expressions surrounding her looked more like the kind of looks bodyguards got when they were having a really bad day. Were they under attack? she wondered as her phone buzzed, and then again, and then kept buzzing like a barrage of messages were pouring in. They might have been, but she would have expected to hear more shouting, the sound of gunfire, or even explosions than she did.

It was just a short walk down the hall and around the corner to her father's office. Gervasio was already there, along with several other men, all of the Falco's underbosses who weren't traveling on business. Gervasio's face was white and the rest of them looked strained; they were all talking across each other, conversation buzzing like angry hornets.

They fell silent when Stefano brought her in. She expected him to dismiss the bodyguards then, but they just took up positions around the room. One of them drew the curtains, casting the room into gloom before someone else turned the lamps on.

Bianchi looked around at the men staring at her and took a breath. Whatever it was, it was going to be bad. Best to get it over with. "All right. Tell me."

Stefano did it, not bothering with any preliminaries or with gentling the news. "Your father is dead."

Bianchi only wished she could have been surprised, but the looks on their faces—desperation and hope, all pinned on her—had already told her. At the back of her head, part of her was reeling in shock, protesting that it wasn't supposed to have been this way. She silenced that voice ruthlessly and straightened her back. There wasn't time for that now. "What happened?"

"Ambush on the way back from meeting with the Tirabassi." Gervasio's voice was savage. "Cornered them on the street and opened fire."

Them. Her father, his right hand, his prospective heir. And all their men. "The rest of them?" she asked.

One of the underbosses—she thought his name was Giorgio—answered. "We don't know yet. They're in surgery." His gaze was pinned on her, just like everyone else's.

It wasn't supposed to have been this way, she thought distantly, but they were waiting on her reaction.

Bianchi clenched her fists and crushed her shock down into something cold and hard, using it to set her feet into motion, lifting them and setting them down again as she crossed the expanse of floor between the door and her father's desk. Something like a sigh rippled through the room as she threaded her way through the crowd of men to round the desk and pull the chair out. She dropped her bag on the desk and sat. "Double our security on the house and all our holdings." The order seemed to come from somewhere remote, someone who wasn't her, but the voice in her ears was her own. "Whoever did this may seek to take advantage of the confusion. Or someone else will. We will not permit that."

One of the younger of the underbosses—he was dark-skinned and she remembered his name being Renzo—was the first to say, "Yes, Boss."

Bianchi flattened her hands on the desk. Her father's desk. Only he would never sit at it again and it was hers now. "Figure out who did this."

"It was the fucking Macrini." Cosimo's tone was grim.

"Do we have proof?" Of course it would be the fucking Macrini, if it were anyone. Who else would have had the gall? Or the spite?

"Not yet." Cosimo shook his head. "But we had word from one of the men in your father's security detail. He recognized one of the gunmen."

"Find me concrete proof," Bianchi said. Solid proof that she would be able to use as evidence against the fucking Macrini so that no one could accuse her of going off half-cocked. "Issue orders. Until we have that proof, no one is to go haring off against the fucking Macrini without my explicit permission."

"What?" Gervasio rounded on her then; she wasn't surprised. "We can't just let those bastards get away with this!" His voice rose with every syllable until he was shouting.

"No, we can't." The analytical portion of her mind was already ticking over, considering her options. It was like planning a hit, only larger. She waited until Gervasio was looking at her and met his eyes squarely. "But we will do this properly. And thoroughly. And we will take the fucking Macrini apart, down to the last man of them. And when we're done I'll piss on their graves. They will _not_ get away with this, I promise you that. Not while I have breath left in my body."

And if they wanted to think it was because of her father's death, let them.

Another sigh rippled through the room, this one low and hungry. Gervasio was looking at her like he was seeing her for the first time, while the men around him nodded their approval.

Good. She drew a breath. "Well, what are you all standing around for? Someone get the word out to our people, and someone else get busy figuring out how the fucking Macrini got the drop on use." She drummed her fingers on her desk. "Make sure the security on the survivors is airtight. And someone, start arranging the funeral." Oh, Christ, and with the funeral... "We'll hold the inheritance ceremony immediately after the funeral." She looked around the room, scrutinizing them. "And if any of you want to object to that last part, you'd better say something now, by God, because we don't have any time for disagreement in the ranks."

No one said anything till Giorgio cleared his throat and said, "I'll get on the recon, Boss."

The tension in the air relaxed. Cosimo stepped forward to handle the job of getting the funeral arranged and Renzo volunteered to handle spreading the word inside the Falco. One by one the orders she'd given were parceled out, till there was nothing left for her to tell them. "Get to it," Bianchi said, flicking her fingers at them. "Stefano, Gervasio. You stay."

The rest of the underbosses filed out. Bianchi gestured at the bodyguards, too, until they joined the rest of the exodus, albeit grudgingly. Stefano and Gervasio took the chairs she gestured at and looked at her. Their expressions jolted her; they looked at her as though they were relying on her—no, fuck, they _were_ relying on her. Jesus Christ. She hadn't _meant_ it when she'd said she'd be her father's heir!

There wasn't time for that now. "Okay." Bianchi raked the hair back from her face. "Now that they're gone, tell me how deep the shit really is."

They didn't bother with exchanging glances or with hesitating. "It could be worse," Uncle Stefano told her. "Could be a lot worse. The boys just accepted your orders. You handled it just right. If you get them to do it again, they'll go along with it out of precedent."

"Good." Bianchi looked from Stefano to Gervasio. "What else?"

"The other Families are likely to see this as an opportunity." Gervasio's voice was reasonably steady, though he couldn't keep himself from fidgeting. "You don't have any experience—"

"Not directly, no." Bianchi felt her lips peel back from her teeth. She hadn't wanted experience. However. "God, what do you all think I spent all that time in Japan _doing_?"

Gervasio blinked at that, but Stefano smiled. "If it was good enough training for the Vongola, I reckon it's good enough for the Falco."

"My thoughts precisely. I know more than they think I do." And she was the Poison Scorpion, damn it. She knew how to protect a Family, if she had to. And she had to, now.

Her phone vibrated again, loud in the quiet of the office. Bianchi sighed and ignored it, pressing her fingers against her forehead. And to think that she'd been _bored_ just half an hour ago, trudging through old budgets and learning the paths that their money took coming in and going out. "Okay," she said. "Gervasio, you were going to act at Davide's right hand. Will you stand as mine instead?"

The breath he took was a shuddering one, but he met her eyes squarely. "Yes. I'd be honored to serve."

"Good, thank you. Uncle Stefano, you know the Falco inside and out. I'm going to have to count on the two of you to tell me just about everything I need to know and didn't have the time to learn." Bianchi leaned back in her chair—her father's chair—and looked at them. "So. Let's have it. What are the things that my father, rest his soul, thought I wouldn't need to know?"

This time they did exchange glances, till Stefano gestured and Gervasio cleared his throat. "You've already picked up a lot in the reading you've been doing." His mouth quirked just a bit.

"Glad to hear it. Now, tell me what I haven't gotten to yet."

He sucked in a breath, tipping his head back to study the ceiling, and finally looked down and began outlining the extent of the Falco's holdings and the deals he knew that her father had been negotiating. Stefano took over the description of their people, describing the kinds of strength she could—and could not—muster. They traded off on situating the Falco within the labyrinth of Family alliances, even though that place was already shifting thanks to her father's death. Bianchi listened closely, forcing herself to commit every detail to memory, stuffing the details away like she did the details of a hit.

An hour, perhaps two, into the briefing, she called for food to be sent up. Luigi came with it, holding a fistful of papers—telegrams. "From the other Families." He gave her the fistful of thin papers. "Condolences, mostly. I've sorted them, see? These are the ones that mean it, and the ones who are being polite, and here are the ones that are jokes."

Bianchi paged through the telegrams and saw that there were notes attached to each one. When she glanced up at him, he was smiling anxiously. "This is very good, thank you."

Luigi's face brightened. "Thanks, Boss. I wasn't sure whether I was overstepping myself, but..."

"No, not at all. This will be very useful." Bianchi smiled at him as she set the stack of telegrams to the side. "Please keep up the good work."

His expression brightened even further as he bowed himself out. Bianchi took the sandwich Stefano handed her and tore into it. "Fuck," she said around the mouthful. "I have to answer these, don't I?"

"Not right away, Boss," Gervasio said, encouraging. "You can wait a day or two."

A day or two. Great.

"Right." Bianchi waved at them. "We were talking about the Orsini."

The next interruption came when they were in the middle of discussing how they were going to word the messages of condolence. This time it was Giorgio, who came in looking bleak and carrying a small box. "You need this," he said as he handed it to her.

Bianchi opened it and saw that it was the Falco ring, heavy gold and a flat red stone that gleamed with a fresh polishing. The last time she'd seen it, it had been on her father's hand as he'd picked at last night's dinner. It weighed her palm down when she took it out. "That was fast."

"We don't want it falling into the wrong hands," Giorgio said.

Bianchi looked at it a moment longer, wanting to know why anyone would think that her hands were the _right_ ones. But there wasn't any time for that. "I suppose not." She slipped the ring onto her middle finger, testing the fit as the red stone winked at her, the color of the Storm and of fresh blood.

Just as well that there wasn't a trial to endure like the Vongola did. But then, the Vongola were special. Bianchi closed her fist. "Thank you, Giorgio."

"There's something else." When she looked up, Giorgio took a breath. "We have news. It's not good."

Bianchi braced herself. "Then tell me and get it over with."

"Giancarlo didn't make it. He died on the operating table a little while ago."

Bianchi let out a breath and heard it echoed by Gervasio while Stefano groaned, quiet and sad. No wonder, that. He and her father and Giancarlo had been friends. "And Davide?" she asked.

"The doctors don't know yet."

Giorgio didn't look particularly hopeful, but Bianchi kept that thought to herself. "Keep me posted. And make sure Giancarlo is included in the funeral plans. He deserves as much honor as the Falco can give him." He'd had a family, too, she thought—a wife and a daughter. She'd have to speak with them.

Oh, God. And what about Licia?

Giorgio murmured an assent and went away again. Bianchi pulled a bit of paper to her, making notes about Giancarlo's family and Licia. "Fucking Macrini," she said, staring at her handwriting. Not just Licia. She looked up. "So. Do you suppose anyone has notified my mother that she's a widow now?"

She didn't really need Uncle Stefano's "Probably not," to know that they hadn't.

"I thought not." Bianchi pinched the bridge of her nose. "If someone will find me a number for her, I'll do it." She looked at her father's desk, covered as it was in folders and papers that were mysteries to her. Giancarlo's desk was probably in the same state. "Gervasio. Go see what sense you can make of Giancarlo's papers. I'll do what I can here."

"Yes, Boss." Gervasio pushed himself to his feet and saw himself out.

Stefano stayed put until Bianchi looked at him. "Are you okay, baby girl?"

Bianchi looked at his grave eyes and had to swallow. "No." She looked away from him. "Can I tell you a secret? Will you keep it?"

"With my life. You know that."

"It wasn't supposed to be like this," she told him, slowly. "It wasn't." She stared into the space over his head. "While I was with the Vongola, I got to see the future, once. A future, I guess. I got to see a little of where the Falco would be. Only a little, mind you." She looked down at him and saw the thoughtful look in his eyes. "Do I sound crazy yet?"

He shook his head, _no_. "The Vongola always have been spooky." His mouth quirked up. "If you say you saw something, I believe you."

"I did." And didn't she feel like a fool now for having relied on it? "My mother would have died a little later this year. And he would have married Licia, and she would have given him a son right away, before Tsuna ever took the Vongola. And I would have gone on, free of the Falco."

"I see." It was slow and measured, maybe even a little sympathetic.

"Yeah. Only I didn't count on Tsuna changing things. Though I should have. It wasn't really a very nice future." Bianchi ran her fingers through her hair. "I thought I was—well, it doesn't matter what I thought. Not any more."

"I'm sorry, baby girl."

Bianchi drew a breath and smiled at him. "Yeah, well, I am too. But what can you do?" She shook her head. "Go find Mother's phone number for me, will you?"

"Sure thing, Boss." He pried himself out of the chair and went out, leaving her alone for the first time all afternoon. Bianchi waited until the door was decently shut behind him before she reached for her phone.

There was a flattering number of messages from Hayato and from Dino and from most of the rest of Tsuna's Family, actually—enough that Bianchi was surprised by them. She listened through all of them, tracking the way Hayato's temper got worse by the increasingly shorter and profanity-laced variations on his _Are you all right?_ and _Call me!_

When she did, he answered before the first ring was complete. "Neesan!"

"Hayato. Hey." Bianchi wasn't entirely sure what she should say. "You heard the news?"

"Yeah. Yeah, I heard. He's really—?"

"Yep." Bianchi traced her fingers along the edge of the desk. It was scarred in places, dinged from daily use. "He's dead. Funeral arrangements will go out... soon."

Hayato drew a sharp breath. "The Tenth says—if you need me to come home for a little while, I can."

"Ah, no. No, don't do that." Bianchi winced. That had sounded awful. "I mean, I—you're Vongola now. But the last thing I need is for one of the underbosses to think you should come back and take his ring instead."

She heard him swear, soft and startled. "Neesan."

"You should at least call me Oneesama now that I'm the head of a Family," she murmured, looking down at the ring on her finger.

His laugh at that was a little shaken. "Dream on."

"Had to try, I guess." Bianchi took another breath. "Anyway, I have a lot of stuff that needs doing."

"Wait," he said. "The Tenth wants to talk to you."

"He does—?" Bianchi began, but all she could hear was the clatter and rustle of Hayato handing the phone to someone else.

Then Tsuna said, "Bianchi-san?"

"Tsuna." Bianchi took a breath. "What can I do for you?"

He made a low, distressed sound. "I think that's what I'm supposed to ask you!"

Bianchi found herself laughing at that. "Oh, Tsuna. You never really do change, do you?" Or, he hadn't yet, which was probably more than anyone would have expected. Before he could say anything else, she said, as gently as she could, "I don't believe the Falco and the Vongola have had those kinds of ties to each other. You shouldn't say things like that to me."

"So what?" There was a note in his voice, the one that went with a defiant lift of his chin and his way of settling in to be stubborn about something.

Oh, Tsuna.

"So you need to be the Vongola Tenth." Bianchi sighed. "Because I've got to be the Falco Tenth now."

Tsuna's little squeak of surprise echoed down the line. "So you are," he said. Then his voice turned even firmer. "Then I have all the more reason to tell you to let me know if there's anything you need."

Bianchi grimaced. "Oh for God's sake, put Hayato back on." Bianchi endured the sound of fumbling fingers and snapped, "Hayato, tell your boss not to be a damned idiot," when he came back on the line.

His laugh was barely more than a huff of breath. "Think he's made up his mind already, Neesan."

"Shit," Bianchi said, and then, "I'm telling you, as my little brother and not anything else—I'm going to take the Macrini apart, okay? I'm not going to leave one of them alive. Tell your goddamn idiot of a boss that he needs to stay clear of it."

Hayato hummed something thoughtful. "Yeah, noted. You probably need to go. Talk to you later, okay?" Then he hung up.

"Oh, for fuck's sake." Bianchi glared at her phone, annoyed.

At least the Ninth hadn't quite let go of the Vongola yet, for all his talk of retiring to a sunny beach somewhere. He'd keep Tsuna from getting the Vongola into something stupid.

She was still aggravated when she dialed Dino's number. "You know, I swear we trained Tsuna better than this."

If Dino was startled by the greeting, he didn't show it in his voice. "What's he done this time?"

"All but offered me an alliance. And Hayato's not doing his damn job and talking him out of it." Bianchi ran a hand through her hair. "If I weren't such a soft touch for him, I'd take it, too, and _then_ where would he be?"

"Right where he'd offered to be." Dino sounded amused about it, too.

"I _swear_ we trained him to know better than that!"

"Mm." That was strangely noncommittal. Bianchi frowned, but before she could say anything, he went on. "You're taking the Falco yourself?"

All the irritation ran out of her. "No one else to do it." Never would be, now.

"I suppose not." He said it slowly, regretfully.

"Yeah. The king is dead, long live the queen. Or something."

They were both silent for a moment, before he said, "I'm sorry about your father."

"Yeah, I am, too." Probably not for the same reasons, though. Or maybe not. "Fuck. You know I would have—"

"Yeah," Dino said quietly. "Yeah, I know."

Bianchi closed her eyes at the resignation in his voice. "Fuck. The Macrini are going to pay for this."

"About time they paid for something." Dino cleared his throat. "Call on the Cavallone if you need us."

"Oh for—not you, too." Bianchi ground a palm against her forehead, annoyed. How was it that she was surrounded by idiots?

"Me too, yeah." She knew the lopsided smile that went with that particularly wry tone, could see it in her mind's eye all too clearly. "I'm... I find that I'm not really loving the Macrini just now."

"Idiot." Before she could go on, someone tapped at her door. "I gotta go."

"Okay. Call me if you need me."

"Sure." It was a lie, but he didn't call her on it. He didn't say anything else, either, just hung up. Bianchi sighed and put her phone down as she called for whomever it was to come in.

It was Stefano, with a slip of paper in his hands and a grim look on his face. Bianchi took a breath as he shut the door behind him. "Davide?"

Stefano came and sat across from her before answering. "I need you to make a decision, Boss." He looked at her, eyes serious. "Do you want him to make it?"

Did she want him to—Bianchi took a breath, and another, and considered the question that he was really asking. Her father's plans for Davide hadn't been subtle, and it was possible that he might seem to be more suited to the Falco ring than she was, at least in the eyes of some. Did she want to risk that? Stefano waited for her to weigh the decision, eyes clear and free of judgment, clearly willing to do whatever she asked him to.

"Perhaps it would be best if he seemed to be dead for a while," she said, surprised at how steady her voice was. "We would not want the Macrini to decide to finish what they started, after all, and he will need peace and quiet to recover. When things are safer, then he can come home."

Uncle Stefano had earned his nickname; his expression gave no sign of what he thought of her decision. "I'll see to it." Stefano handed the slip of paper to her. "Your mother's number."

"Thanks." Bianchi stuffed it into a pocket and stood, coming around the desk. "Davide had a woman—Alessia, I think? I'll speak to her myself."

"And Gervasio?"

"I'll tell him after the funeral." He had such a difficult time keeping a straight face, after all. There was no telling whether he'd be able to keep from betraying that his brother lived. Better not to risk it.

Stefano nodded once. "All right." He fell in with her as she left the office and crossed the hall to the one that had been Giancarlo's and would be Gervasio's now. He was sitting at the desk, looking through a box and frowning.

He looked up when Bianchi came in. When Stefano shut the door after them, his face went white. All Bianchi had to say was, "I'm sorry."

And she was, for the spasm of pain that flashed across his face and the sound he made, small and hurt, before he covered his eyes with a hand. Bianchi thought it was grief at first, till he spoke, voice thick with rage. "_Fucking_ Macrini."

Funny how that decided her, when she'd been ambivalent before. Fuck it. She was going to take advantage of every last asset she had at hand. "I've talked to the Vongola and the Cavallone," she said, almost without thinking about it. "They'll stand with us."

Stefano made a startled, disbelieving sound. "That'll be a first."

"Tsuna has a very expansive definition of what counts as his Family. And I was—Dino and I were close. Very close." Close enough that if things had been otherwise... who could know what would have happened? Bianchi knew she was smiling and knew that it wasn't pleasant. "It's funny how that can change things, isn't it?" She straightened her shoulders. "In any case, they've offered, and I'm going to hold them to it. For information, if nothing else, but for manpower if I can get them to agree to it." And for support against the other Families, too, which might actually be the most valuable of all.

Gervasio drew a shuddering breath and brought his hand away from his face. His eyes were still wet, but she pretended not to notice. "That could be useful." His voice was unsteady and a little rough, and he had to clear his throat before he could go on. "The Vongola's information network is nothing to sneer at. We can learn a lot from them."

"That's what I was thinking, yes."

Stefano cleared his throat. "Have you decided how you want to handle retribution for this?"

Bianchi shook her head. "Not yet. Give me some time." And in the meantime... She looked at Gervasio. "Do you need anything?"

"Aside from Ivo Macrini's head on a plate, you mean?" Gervasio shook his head, sitting up straighter. "I'm fine, Boss."

Bianchi looked at him, but he seemed determined to _be_ fine, regardless of how upset he was. "Let me know if that changes. I'll be in my office."

Stefano followed her out again and said, voice low, "After you call Costanza, you should open the door and leave it open."

Bianchi glanced at him, but she supposed he had a good point—there were a lot of people loitering in this stretch of corridor, keeping an eye on her surreptitiously. "I will."

"Good girl." Stefano squeezed her shoulder and left her.

Bianchi retrieved the number from her pocket and looked at it. There were _so many_ things she would have preferred to do rather than this. She saved her grimace for after the door was closed behind her, sat on a corner of the desk, and pulled the phone over to dial.

The number rang and rang, the tone of it dull and tinny in her ear. Bianchi stared at the wall opposite the desk and wondered what she should say to her mother when they hadn't even spoken in—at least a decade. Jesus.

Her mother solved the dilemma by answering the phone with, "I thought I told you never to call me here, Luciano."

Caller ID. Of course. Bianchi grimaced again. "This isn't Luciano. It's Bianchi."

There was a beat of silence, and another, before her mother said, "Bianchi? My Bianchi?"

"Yeah, I guess." No point in disputing the claim, really. Not right now.

"But this is—why are you calling me from Luciano's office?"

Bianchi took a breath. "Because it's my office now. The Macrini got him this afternoon. Him and Giancarlo."

She didn't even have the words to describe the sound that came echoing down the line then: it was raw and rough and didn't match any easily-described emotion. Bianchi closed her eyes and waited, silently, until her mother said, "He's dead? Really?"

"Yeah. Just you and me and Hayato left, and Hayato's working for the Vongola now." Not that Costanza Falco would give a damn about that. "We haven't finalized the funeral arrangements yet—" that she knew of; she needed to check in with Cosimo "—but we'll need you here."

"I wouldn't _dream_ of missing it."

Yeah, that didn't really surprise Bianchi. "Yeah. I'll have someone book a flight for you and we'll pick you up at the airport. Tomorrow morning work for you?"

Her mother hummed, thoughtful. "Mm, yes, that will be fine. Just have someone forward the details to me."

Bianchi waited the space of a heartbeat, and another, but her mother didn't have anything else to say. "Right. I'll do that. Guess I'll see you tomorrow, then."

"Tomorrow, yes. Till then."

And her mother hung up.

Bianchi set the receiver down and sat for a moment, breathing carefully through her complete lack of surprise, before she could make herself stand, cross the room, and open the door. Then she squared her shoulders and got back down to the business of sorting out her father's desk and being visible to her people.

* * *

Bianchi would have preferred to go to Alessia Eramo herself, but the moment she said as much, Stefano vetoed it and Guiseppe, the head of her security, echoed him. So there was nothing to do but send for the woman and receive her in one of the smaller public parlors that was almost friendly and intimate.

She hadn't known what to expect of Eramo; Davide hadn't said much about her. When Eramo came in, Bianchi saw that she was tall—statuesque might have been the better word—and strong-featured rather than strictly pretty. Her expression was set under her short, dark hair, and the first thing she said to Bianchi was, "Is he dead?"

Bianchi looked at the way Eramo's dark eyes were burning and decided that the flatness of her tone was suppressed emotion, not shock. "I'm very sorry."

Eramo closed her eyes and two spots of color appeared high on her pale cheeks. "I knew he shouldn't go. I _told_ him."

Bianchi kept her eyebrows where they were, though they wanted to climb. "If you did, I wish he would have shared it with my father."

Eramo opened her eyes again; they were glittering with something that was either grief or rage. Bianchi wasn't sure which. "He didn't place much faith in such things."

That sounded like Davide, all right. Bianchi sighed. "Figures. Will you sit?" Belatedly, she remembered her manners. "I'm Bianchi. Bianchi Falco."

Eramo sat. "I thought you must be." She was studying Bianchi, giving her the same sort of careful scrutiny Bianchi had given her. "The woman who would be boss."

"Not would be." Bianchi kept her voice even. "The woman who is boss. My father is dead." No choice about it now, and no going back now, and she was damned if she was going to let people deny the truth of what she was now.

Eramo made a low sound. "I always knew he was going to get Davide killed. At least he had the decency to go along with him."

Rage, Bianchi decided uneasily. Eramo was nearly vibrating with it. "I doubt he meant to do it. He seemed to think of Davide as a son." It was just Davide's misfortune that Luciano Falco had been very bad at fatherhood.

"Your father did a great many things without meaning to," Eramo retorted. "He liked to arrange people's lives for them without stopping to consider what they actually wanted."

She'd flung the words out like an attack. That suggested something, actually, so Bianchi crafted her response carefully. "Yes, he did, didn't he?" She lifted a hand, holding it palm up. "Mine was one of those lives, of course."

Eramo's dark eyes were fixed on her. "It's true, then. You really weren't going to let him."

"I had other ideas, yeah." Bianchi closed her hand and let it drop into her lap. "Davide Conti was a good man, but he and I probably wouldn't have suited each other very well, not least because we were both in involved with other people." Something in Eramo's face eased then. "I would have liked to have told you that in better circumstances."

"He mentioned that." Eramo was still taut, but some of the immediate hostility seemed to have gone out of her. "He wasn't sure whether it would have been proper."

"He seemed to worry about that a lot where I was concerned," Bianchi said, dry. And really, that was the main reason they wouldn't have worked very well together.

"You confused him." Eramo shrugged and immediately moved on without bothering to explain that. "Who did it?"

"We're pretty sure it was the Macrini." Bianchi held up a hand when Eramo's eyes snapped. "And we're making plans for them. They'll pay."

"They should." Eramo's voice was fierce. "I hope you kill them all."

"That thought had crossed my mind, yes." _This_ was Davide's woman? Bianchi thought, confused. And he'd been nonplussed by _her_? She couldn't begin to imagine why. "We'll be holding the funeral Sunday. Will you stand with the family?"

Eramo raised her eyebrows. "You really want me there?"

Would she have asked, otherwise? "You belong there. You were his woman, after all."

"I was, yes." Eramo's mouth ticked up at the corner. "You do realize that people will talk?"

"People always seem to talk, no matter what you do." Bianchi shrugged at her. "Fuck 'em."

Now Eramo did smile. "I think I would have liked you very much, if we'd met in other circumstances."

"Thank you. I think." Bianchi tipped her head to the side, studying Eramo. One tilted compliment deserved another, she decided. "You know, you would have made a fantastic hitman."

Eramo raised a single eyebrow, clearly amused. "Who says I didn't?"

* * *

"Okay." Bianchi planted her hands on Gervasio's desk and gave him a look. "Your brother was as nervous as a cat around me. I figured it was because I was a hitman and offended his delicate sensibilities. And he was dating the fucking _Wraith_? What the _fuck_?"

Gervasio blinked up at her. "His delicate sensibilities...?" he echoed slowly. He blinked again, once, before he broke into a breath of laughter. "You thought—he didn't—oh, God."

Bianchi waited his laughter out, until it turned hoarse and threatened to turn into something that wasn't laughter at all, and then reached across the desk to give him a brisk shake. "Explain."

Gervasio ran a hand over his face, shoulders still shaking. "Oh, man, I can't believe—oh, fuck, he'll laugh when—" He stopped himself and passed a hand over his eyes. It was a moment before he spoke again. "You didn't offend his delicate sensibilities, Ms. Scorpion ma'am." He glanced up at her, eyes red-rimmed and still managing to twinkle a bit. "You _appealed_ to them."

Bianchi found that she needed to sit down. "You must be joking."

"Nope." Gervasio managed a faint smile. "You're kind of... what his type was. He didn't disapprove of you, if that's what you thought was happening. I think he was trying not to be tempted." He sucked on his teeth. "Probably because Alessia would have _gutted_ him, mind you. What made him nervous was that he could see your father's plan working out, not because he—well, whatever it was you thought."

Bianchi stared at him some more, and he shrugged at her. She had to pinch the bridge of her nose then to stave off the incipient headache. "And it didn't occur to him to _tell_ me this?"

"Well. He figured that it might embarrass you. And that it wasn't the kind of thing he ought to talk about, anyway." Gervasio shrugged again. "He worried, you know."

Oh, for God's sake. She was going to give Davide _such_ a shaking when she saw him again. "Okay, new rule," she said. "Don't keep shit from me, okay? I don't care _how_ embarrassing it is, I need to know things like this so I don't go blundering into them."

"Yes, Boss." When she looked at him, Gervasio looked as serious as he sounded. "Though I don't think there's anything else."

"Let's _hope_ not," Bianchi grumbled.

* * *

Bianchi was in the middle of composing responses to the stack of condolences that had come pouring in overnight when the house line buzzed on the phone and the voice on the other end of the line informed her that her mother's car had arrived. Bianchi thanked the girl for the notice, added a few more insincere platitudes to the response to the Pozzo Nero (whose message would have been more convincing if they had simply purchased a preprinted greeting card). Then she took a deep breath and went downstairs to welcome her mother home.

She'd been in awe of her mother when she was a girl, because her mother had never appeared outside her bedroom in anything less than flawless makeup and perfectly coordinated outfits, no matter what the occasion or the hour. Bianchi had liked to just look at her, being amazed by how beautiful her mother was, even when her mother had looked sad and tired. Her mother had always been soft-spoken and refined and nearly constantly ill when Bianchi was young, worn down by her attempts to bear another child and unable to endure much of Bianchi's own sturdy, tomboyish presence.

Her mother hadn't changed much since the last time Bianchi had seen her, when she'd been leaving for another therapeutic trip. This time, instead of supervising the suitcases being loaded into the car, she was overseeing the unloading of her suitcases. She supervised the process for quite a while, dressed in a sober black dress that was perfectly cut, hair coiled on top of her head, before she noticed Bianchi watching her. "Oh!"

Bianchi took a breath and stepped forward. "Mother," she murmured, conscious of the eyes watching them. Appearances, she reminded herself. "It's good to see you."

Her mother was very good at keeping up appearances. She embraced Bianchi, though carefully, and her lips brushed the air over Bianchi's cheeks. "Bianchi. It's so good to see you. Look at how you've grown."

"Happens to the best of us." Bianchi managed a smile for the staff and the men watching. "How was your flight? Uneventful, I hope."

Her mother made the tiniest of moues; standing as close as she was, Bianchi could see some of the fine lines that even the most perfect of cosmetics couldn't wholly conceal, and the thinness of her mother's frame. All that time abroad didn't seem to have done much for her mother's health. "Traveling is horrible."

"Then come in and recover." Bianchi gave her mother her very best smile. "Alfonso has been driving the staff into a frenzy preparing for you. We can talk at dinner, yes?"

Her mother smiled back, though her eyes looked relieved. "How did I manage to raise such a thoughtful child?"

Bianchi shrugged. "I just do what I can." She gestured at the staff. "Come on, then, you heard her. See her inside and make sure she's comfortable." She smiled at her mother again. "I'll see you at dinner."

As she watched her mother go inside, she wondered how strange it was to have used into the same basic script that her father had used to greet her mother's return from trips away. Then she shrugged at herself—there were only so many ways that conversation good have gone—and returned to her office to continue working.

* * *

She beat her mother to dinner, which meant that she was in plenty of time to roll her eyes at the formal arrangement of the chairs. "Pull her chair around to this end," she told the man overseeing the other members of the staff. He blinked at her, and Bianchi let an edge creep into her voice. "Now, please."

Bianchi settled in the seat at the head of the table and watched them scramble to obey, dragging the heavy chair around and retrieving the place setting. "Look," she said, while they were working. "New standing orders. Unless it's formal, group the chairs together." Or maybe she'd just eat her dinner at her desk or in her rooms and skip the dining room altogether.

They murmured an acknowledgement. Bianchi sighed and made herself comfortable, wondering whether her mother would actually join her or would be pleading a headache. She was kind of hoping for the headache; there was plenty to do back in her office.

But her mother came in after all, wearing a different black dress, one that had a more formal cut, with pearls at her throat and ears. She looked startled to find her chair so close to Bianchi's. "This is... unusual."

"Yeah, well. Didn't want to shout all the way down to the other end of the table." Bianchi watched her mother settle herself and waited for the staff to pour the wine. "Everything okay in your rooms? You need anything?"

"No, the rooms are fine. Everything is just as I left it." Her mother unfolded her napkin and spread it in her lap.

"That's good." They were starting with a light soup this evening. Bianchi tasted hers; when it seemed like her mother wasn't going to say anything, she asked, "How's Spain?"

"Very pleasant." Her mother's smile was small, but seemed genuine. Bianchi supposed that made sense. The file that Gervasio had found in Giancarlo's desk said that she was enjoying herself there, pampering herself at spas and patronizing the arts there, generally in the company of a young painter who seemed quite handsome in his photograph. "I like it there a great deal."

"Tell me about it," Bianchi said, for the sake of conversation. "I've never been."

"Oh, there's not much to tell."

Bianchi stirred her spoon through her soup. "No? Too bad." Maybe _she_ should have claimed the headache. "I just wondered what you'd been up to all this time."

"Nothing very exciting. Don't play with your food, dear."

Bianchi dropped the spoon and twisted the napkin in her lap instead. Good God, she wasn't _ten_ any more. "There's nothing wrong with unexciting. There have been plenty of times when I would have traded somebody's left arm for a little more boring in my life."

"I suppose the grass is always greener on the other side of the fence," her mother said, polite and neutral.

Bianchi strangled her napkin instead of her mother. "I suppose so," she said, as cheerfully as she could. "Especially when the people on your side of the fence are trying to kill you."

Her mother's lips pressed thinner at that. Bianchi sipped her wine and smiled back pleasantly, wondering whether the woman could come up with another platitude to counter that. "Those days will be behind you now, I suppose."

Bianchi glanced at the ring on her finger. "I think they might just be getting started, to tell the truth."

Her mother's gaze followed hers. "You mean to keep it, then?"

Bianchi spooned up a bit of her soup. "I'd like to know who else could do it at this point."

"You could marry someone. One of the underbosses, perhaps. Or one of the younger sons from another Family." Her mother said it carelessly.

"Yeah, how about no?" Bianchi felt the air on her teeth and reined in her expression. "I'm not marrying just for the sake of getting out of this mess. That would be worse than trying to do it all myself." Not that there weren't already several personal notes of condolence sitting on her desk. One was from the youngest Cizeta boy; another was from the Orsini's middle son. There was a third from one of the Balduccis, and a fourth from the Sciotalle. Enterprising bastards, all of them. "It's _my_ Family now, for good or for ill, and when I marry, he'll just have to cope with that."

Her mother absorbed that; then her mouth quirked. "All the grief I had, trying to get him a son, and look where we are now."

Bianchi snorted. "So funny it hurts, huh?"

"Rather." Her mother sipped her wine. "Well. I'm sure you'll do a fine job of it."

"We'll see." Bianchi pushed her soup aside. "Will you be staying after the funeral?"

"No. There's nothing here to hold me," her mother admitted.

Bianchi felt the way that her smile stretched the corners of her mouth, sharp as a wire cutting flesh. "Perhaps there isn't, at that." She let a mouthful of wine wash the bitter taste off her tongue. "So tell me what it's like in Spain. I'd like to hear it all, please."

Her mother murmured some demurral, but Bianchi persisted until her mother finally let herself be coaxed into talking of places and people Bianchi had never seen and the life she had made for herself outside of Italy and away from the Falco. Her mother was a trained socialite; once she began, she kept going, drifting from one inconsequential topic to another until Bianchi swallowed the last bite of her dessert and excused herself, pleading the work waiting for her.

Her father had used that excuse a lot, she recalled. God only knew whether he'd actually followed through with it.

Bianchi did, or meant to, and sat at her desk, looking at yet another folder devoted to the fucking Macrini. Instead of flipping it open, she put her head in her hands and held it for a long time. Then she reached for her phone. _are all families fucked up, or is mine just special?_

Dino's reply took a bit to come through. _dunno, mine was pretty messed up, too._

_maybe it's just the mafia, then._

_could be,_ he wrote. _it warps everything sooner or later. you okay?_

_my mother's back from spain._

His reply this time took even longer, but that was because he'd excused himself from whatever it was he was doing to call. Bianchi listened to the electronic melody of her ringtone in surprise before she managed to answer. "Hey."

"Hey." His voice was warm; that alone was enough to make Bianchi grip her phone tightly and close her eyes. God, she was pathetic. "How are you doing?"

It wasn't reasonable to tell the boss of another Family all the ways in which her Family was in crisis. Bianchi did it anyway, describing that awful reunion and dinner with her mother and the absolutely _baffling_ number of things that she had to known and do because her father, damn his eyes, hadn't taken her seriously enough before he'd gotten himself killed. Dino let her talk, listening patiently to all her complaints, until Bianchi finally wound down. "All right," he said. "First thing you need to do is have another glass of wine. And then you need to go to bed. You're not in as bad a shape as you think you are, so go ahead and get your sleep while you can."

"But—"

"No, I mean it." He sounded absolutely serious about it. "Wear yourself out now and you'll regret it later when you're _really_ in a crisis."

Given that all she'd managed to do the night before was catch brief snatches of sleep, the advice was attractive. "I'll do what I can."

"Good." She could hear the smile in his voice. "Now, you'll want to keep an eye on your right hand. He's probably as solid as anyone is normally, but things aren't normal." Bianchi squirmed a little at that; well, after the funeral, he'd be okay. "If you think he's up to it, have him sort through your underbosses and tell you who you can delegate some of your problems to while you get your feet under you. If he can't do it, the Saint probably can. Just don't delegate that stuff for too long; take it back as soon as you're steady enough to handle it yourself."

Also sensible advice. "Yeah. Okay, I can do that."

"Yeah. Do that, and keep yourself from jumping into any new commitments."

"Jesus, Dino, I know better than that." She didn't quite mean to snap it, but it came out that way nonetheless.

He just laughed. "Sorry, sorry. Guess that one is pretty obvious." He sighed. "You're going to feel like you're drowning for a while. That's normal. But honestly, as far as I know, the Falco are in good shape, saving the obvious, and you have some good people working for you."

Bianchi leaned back in her chair and closed her eyes. "But the obvious is a pretty big fucking deal."

"Well, yes. It is." He sighed again. "I'm really sorry."

"Yeah. Mother's the only one who isn't, really."

"They were estranged for a long time, weren't they?" His tone was carefully neutral.

Bianchi snorted. "You could say that, yeah. She'll leave again, soon as the funeral is over. Said she didn't have anything to hold her here."

"...did she." Dino's tone went utterly flat. "Did it occur to her that she'd said that to your face?"

It was a surprise to realize that she remembered how to laugh, even if it was raw. "You're joking, right?"

He went quiet at the other end of the line. "Damn, and I'm going to have to be polite to her at the funeral, aren't I?"

She didn't need him to go fighting any battles on her behalf, but she was perversely pleased by his protective impulses in spite of that. "You're inventive. You'll manage something."

His tone was dark when he said, "Oh, I'd _like_ to be inventive, believe me."

Bianchi rubbed the bridge of her nose. "I do."

"Speaking of... how are things on the Macrini front?"

"Fucking Macrini," Bianchi said, automatically. "They haven't moved since the other day. I think they're waiting to see what happens next."

"Probably. What can I do to help?" He paused, and before she could say anything, added, "And don't say I can't help, because I'm going to. Whether you like it or not. Just try and stop me."

Just as well that she'd decided not to be stubborn about that. "Decided I wasn't going to say no if you wanted to pitch in," she told him, amused. "Information for now. Anything your people can get their hands on about the Macrini, I want it."

"Information I can do. Anything else?"

"Not yet. But I'll let you know when that changes." Bianchi sighed. It was beyond tempting to keep him on the line, chatting about inconsequential things. And that would have been a very bad idea. "Okay. You know what, I'm going to go find that glass of wine now."

"Good plan. You'll call me if you need anything, right?"

Bianchi bit her lip. "Yeah." She didn't even know whether it was a polite fiction or not, any more.

"Good." He sounded satisfied that it wasn't. "Sleep well, then."

"Thanks."

Before she could hang up, he added, all in a rush, "I love you, good night," and disconnected before she could say anything else.

Bianchi lowered the phone from her ear and looked at it. "You idiot," she said, though she wasn't sure which one of them she was talking to.

* * *

Someone else told Licia, thank God and Uncle Stefano, because Bianchi was fairly certain she didn't have the fortitude to do it herself. However, not having to speak to Licia herself meant that she didn't remember the party that Licia had been in charge of until her mother came into her office. Bianchi had been trying to think of penning a graceful reply to the Rossi, whom she cordially detested. Her mother's entrance and the moment she took to sneer at the portrait over the mantel made for a welcome distraction. "Yes?"

Her mother looked away from the painting. "I understand that you were planning a party of some sort?"

It didn't make sense at first, until—"Oh, shit," Bianchi said. Her mother frowned at the profanity; Bianchi ignored that. "It was supposed to be a celebration." She put her pen down and remembered not to rub her eyes and smear her mascara at the last minute.

"That would be inappropriate now." Her mother looked at her, clearly expecting some kind of response. God only knew what kind.

"Of course. We'll be in mourning." Bianchi dragged the pad of paper that was serving as her auxiliary brain over and scribbled down a note to call Licia and—"Oh. Oh, fuck," she said, blankly. "Licia." Would she even be in any kind of shape to deal with party business for the Vongola?

Her mother's eyes sharpened. "Licia?"

"Our event planner." Who'd been in love with the old goat, God only knew why. Not that she was going to share that with her mother.

"Oh." Her mother's voice and expression iced over. "_Her_."

Then again, her mother didn't seem to need any introductions. "She was fond of him. She must be terribly upset right now." Bianchi sighed, spinning the pen in her fingers. "I'll have to call her and see how she's doing, and whether she can field this." Perhaps she'd foist it all off onto Renzo if Licia couldn't handle it. He seemed to have a knack for managing the social end of things.

That was apparently the wrong thing to say. Her mother looked appalled. "You would—do you realize who she was?"

"His mistress, yeah, I know." His putative mistress, anyway. "And the Falco event coordinator, since God knows _I_ can't do it."

Her mother's voice and posture went even stiffer. "If you know, then why on earth would you be worried about her?"

"Because what she and the old goat got up to wasn't any of my business. And you made it none of your business by walking out of here." Bianchi reached for the desk phone while her mother stared. "Well, you did. You don't get to complain about what happened after that."

"Well, I _never_!"

Never what? Bianchi wondered, digging through her father's list of phone numbers—ah, there it was. "If you'll excuse me, I need to make a call."

Her mother gave her a disbelieving look before turning on her heel and stalking out. Bianchi dialed instead of watching her go.

Licia picked up on the third ring. "Licia Sablone." Her voice wasn't quite as smooth as Bianchi remembered it being.

"It's Bianchi Falco," she said, after a moment of not quite knowing how to introduce herself now.

"Bianchi." Licia sound surprised to hear from her. "What can I do for you?"

"I'm sorry, I should have called sooner. Are you okay?" Stupid, useless words. Stupid that this was the best she had to offer.

Licia's laugh had a catch to it. "It has not been a good week."

"Tell me about it." Bianchi traced aimless circles on a piece of paper. "You—okay?" _Okay_ was inane, but what else was there to ask?

"Not particularly. But I'll get through it. And you?" Licia's voice sounded steady enough, at least.

"About the same." Bianchi sighed and put her pen down. "Fucking Macrini."

Licia laughed again, hitching and uncertain. "You sound just like him when you say that."

Did she really? Though perhaps it made sense, if she did. "Who do you think I learned it from?"

"...that makes sense." Licia cleared her throat. When she spoke again, it was more briskly. "It's good that you called. The party—"

"Can't go on, I know." Bianchi hesitated. "If you'd rather not deal with it—"

"No! I mean, I can. I will." A pause. "I need to stay busy."

"You can have some of my job if that's what you need." Stupid to offer, but perhaps a joke, however weak, would ease Licia's mood.

"I wouldn't know where to begin," Licia murmured.

But she would have figured it out, Bianchi thought, and tucked it away as moot. "If you really want to stay busy, we're still hammering out the details of the inheritance reception. If you want to lend a hand, Alfonso and Renzo would probably kiss your feet."

"That would be a little much. I'd just be happy to help." Licia did sound a bit better with the prospect of additional work. "When is it?"

"After the funeral." Which was just a day and some change away. "It's not much time, so that's why we could use the help. Won't be anything fancy. Just a formality, enough to satisfy tradition."

"Yes, of course. Do you have any preferences—"

"I'll leave it all to you. I trust you to know what you're doing," Bianchi told her, because it was true, and it was only smart to defer to one's experts.

"...thank you. You don't have to—"

"Don't say stupid things," Bianchi snapped. "If not you, then who? And why not you?"

Licia was quiet for several seconds. "I wonder," she said. "But the point is taken. I'll give Alfonso a call."

"Let me know if you need anything at all," Bianchi told her. "Or just want to talk. I'll be here." And it really was the least of what she could do.

"Yes, I will." Licia's voice was quiet. "Thank you for calling. Goodbye."

Bianchi echoed her and set the phone back in its cradle, wondering if she'd messed that up as thoroughly as her gut said she had. But there wasn't any taking it back now, so she sighed and dragged the stack of condolences back over, and got to work figuring out what to say to the Rossi.

* * *

Bianchi surveyed the congregation full of bosses, their right hands, and their families, which was leavened with a few politicians and a handful of hitman, and couldn't help leaning over and murmuring, "If someone set off a bomb in here, the mafia would never recover from it."

"Bite your tongue, kiddo." Stefano managed to say it without his lips moving. "Breaking a truce like that is unthinkable."

"_I_ thought it."

He slanted a look at her. "You know what I mean."

She did, at that. Some things were beyond the pale, even for them.

The last of the Furetti filed into their seats; Bianchi repressed the urge to fidget and lifted her head a little higher instead.

"Nervous, Boss?" Gervasio asked. He was scanning the crowd, too, probably for the same reasons she had, but the fucking Macrini hadn't had the gall to send more than a single token representative of the Family to stand for them, a doddering old man everyone knew was half senile. Cagey bastards.

"Perish the thought." He probably knew she was lying, but he didn't say anything about it as she looked around and checked the time. "All right." She squared her shoulders. "Let's get this over with."

Her mother looked disapproving, still, even though Licia had declined to stand with their family and was instead sitting in an alcove near the back of the church, discreet in a black veil. Well, her mother could look as disapproving as she liked; her plane's wheels would be leaving the ground at six that evening. There wasn't any point in caring what Costanza Falco thought any more.

Her mother smoothed out her expression as she took Uncle Stefano's arm and let him lead her inside. Bianchi followed after, walking alone and holding her head high. Giancarlo's widow followed her, leaning on her son-in-law's arm and trailed by her own daughter. Gervasio brought up the rear, escorting Eramo—or perhaps Alessia was escorting him. It was hard to say.

And no one in the world could have missed the fact that Hayato was already seated next to Sawada Tsunayoshi, right in the middle of the Vongola. Bianchi hoped no one had missed it, anyway; it wasn't like they'd tried to be subtle.

She didn't pay much attention to the mass or the funeral service, following along by rote and keeping her eyes fixed on the three flower-draped coffins, as was only proper. She couldn't help brooding on the fact that the Giorgio had reported a possible connection between the shooters and the Macrini, or that the Vongola had sent word that the Macrini had been in contact with the Tirabassi before her father had gone to meet with them.

And there was the fact that no fewer than three different Families were quietly mustering their people, as if preparing to test the Falco's grip on the territories it held. Truce for a funeral or not, the other Families weren't going to lose any time trying to take advantage of what must have seemed like a golden opportunity. Not that she would have expected anything less of them.

The services dragged on and on; Bianchi chafed at the time it was taking, time that she could have spent more usefully. But the priest finished droning on eventually, thank God, and ceded the floor to those who cared to speak about the deceased. That part was at least interesting. Uncle Stefano got up to say a few words about his friends, speaking about the sides of them that Bianchi had never known. Lorenzo Vieri made a few remarks about her father the honorable opponent and businessman—they were wry and earned a little bit of knowing laughter, not least because her father and Vieri had been sharp rivals for years. Giancarlo's son-in-law spoke about how much his father-in-law would be missed by his family; his obvious sincerity made Bianchi set her jaw and vow to destroy the fucking Macrini all over again. Finally, one of the men that Bianchi only knew in passing said a few words about his friend Davide, and that satisfied everyone's need for eulogizing the dead.

Bianchi sighed with relief as the pallbearers moved forward to bear the caskets out of the church, because at least it was almost _over_ and she'd be able to get back to work.

She didn't realize she was fidgeting until Gervasio looked across the seat of the car at her and said, "Don't worry. You'll get the ring back soon."

Bianchi blinked and looked down at the bare middle finger that she'd been rubbing absently. "I guess I will." There wasn't any escaping it now.

He smiled, sympathetic enough, even though he was still looking drawn and weary. Bianchi had a feeling that he wasn't really sleeping.

That was going to have to be the first order of business, she decided, looking from him to Alessia, who was staring out the window at the slow-moving countryside, her face set and expressionless. Once the formalities were seen to and there was no going back, they would need to know.

She was reasonably sure that Eramo wouldn't be able to kill her, even if she tried.

It was that pleasant thought which preoccupied her as they stood in the hot sunshine and saw the three caskets laid to rest. At least it was better than being preoccupied with nerves, she thought, shaking the hands of the men who hadn't merited an invitation to the small inheritance ceremony and were on their ways home. Some of them were clearly amused to be shaking her hand and others looked at her with nothing but speculation in their eyes—those were the ones with unmarried younger sons. Flavio Orsini was the worst of those; Bianchi had to grit her teeth through a conversation with him that dragged on and on and had nothing to do with anything but his son Pasquale.

As if she was going to marry anyone just to hand over the Falco. Idiots. Maybe she hadn't really wanted to be stuck with it in the first place, but it was her Family now, and be damned if she was going to let go of it.

"Make sure Eramo sticks around till after it's all over," she told Stefano once the bulk of the funeral guests had dispersed. He nodded, giving her no sign what he thought of the order, and moved off to intercept Alessia before she could get too far away.

If the funeral had seemed to last forever, time suddenly sped up. One minute they were all milling around in the hot sun; the next they were inside and Bianchi was peering into a mirror, tucking a few stray wisps of hair back into place and touching up her lipstick while a handful of bosses assembled themselves in the next room. A blink of the eye and it was time for her to walk in, feeling every eye in the place following her as she strode down the aisle they'd left open for her. Uncle Stefano stood at the head of it, holding a box that had the Falco ring nestled inside.

The whole thing was much less involved than the Vongola made it be. Uncle Stefano simply raised his voice to say, "This is the ring of the Falco bosses. It belonged to Luciano Falco, our ninth boss, and Vito Falco before him," and so on, all the way back to Matteo Falco, who'd founded the Family. Then he looked at her. "Who are you to take it now?"

Bianchi lifted her chin and spoke loud and clear. "I am Bianchi Falco, tenth boss of the Falco."

Uncle Stefano held the box out and she took the ring, slipping it back onto her middle finger, and that was really that.

The Vongola ceremony was still fresh in everyone's mind, however; that was why Bianchi fed her Flame into the ring and held her fist up so everyone could see the red Flames she held in it. It was melodramatic, but it worked—the applause started in the Falco ranks and spread to the rest of the men Bianchi turned to face. Bianchi waited it out, letting it die naturally before she lowered her fist and let the Flame slide away. "I call Gervasio Conti forward." He stepped forward, going to one knee before her. "Will you serve the Falco as my right hand?"

"With my life, Boss." He took her hand and kissed the ring.

Stefano followed him, swearing his loyalty and his service, and then her underbosses, Cosimo and Renzo and Giorgio, all the way down to Guiseppe and Luigi. And then it was over and the ranks of her men fell into loose clusters around her as the staff came forward with light refreshments and Bianchi waited to receive the other bosses.

Tsuna was the first to come forward, trailed by Hayato and Timoteo. "Bianchi-san." He took her hand. "Kyouko and Haru-chan wanted me to tell you how sorry they were that they couldn't be here."

They'd both sent emails to that effect, too, and Bianchi told him what she'd told them herself. "I appreciate that, but they really do have more important things to do than fly around the world for the funeral of a man they never knew." She had no doubt that they would have done it anyway, had it been the least bit practical.

"It's not about that. It's about you." Tsuna pressed her hand. "How are you?"

Bianchi pursed her lips. "Retroactively sympathetic for you," she told him. "Though you don't need to repeat that to Reborn."

Tsuna's smile was rueful. "You know he'll find out anyway."

"True." Bianchi dipped her head as Tsuna released her hand and stepped aside for his predecessor. "Timoteo."

His mouth quirked under his mustache. "My sympathies for your losses."

"Thank you." The urge to add _sir_ was nearly overwhelming, but Bianchi stomped it ruthlessly and added, "The Falco appreciate that," to cover up the little pause.

"Mm." He gave her a careful look and then nodded, apparently pleased with what he'd found. "I'm sure the Vongola will look forward to working with you in your new role."

That could mean anything. Bianchi chose to take it as a positive sign. "Thank you. I'm looking forward to it as well."

Timoteo stepped aside and Hayato shuffled forward. "Nice light show," he said, terse enough, and then surprised the hell out of her by pulling her into an awkward hug. "Should've run when you had the chance," he said against her ear.

"Yeah, I know," she whispered back.

He released her and cleared his throat. "Anyway, congratulations, Neesan. Better you than me."

"Thanks, I guess." A thought occurred to her then. "Give me a call later, will you?"

"Yeah, sure."

The Vongola moved away then and Aria of the Giglio Nero took their place. She took Bianchi's hands in hers and smiled. "My sympathies for your losses," she murmured, "but please forgive me for being pleased at the prospect of having an ally against all the boys at last." Her smile turned conspiratorial; Bianchi couldn't help returning it. "They mean well, usually, _bless_ their hearts."

Because if one didn't bless them, one might be inclined to kill them. "I know what you mean." Bianchi felt the quick pressure of Aria's fingers around hers. "An ally would be welcome."

Aria gave her another of those bright smiles before drifting away. Gervasio, standing at her shoulder, whistled almost soundlessly. "Boss, how on _earth_ did you do that?"

"You wouldn't believe me if I told you," she murmured back, thinking of the dark future that a little girl had given her life to help change. Then she dragged her attention back to the present and pasted a smile on her face for the Modigliani.

She wasn't entirely surprised that Dino was the last of the guests to come forward to greet her. It had been such a constant struggle not to let herself look in his direction through the funeral and inheritance ceremonies that it felt strange to finally look at him now. "Hey," she said, wrapping her fingers around his as he shook her hand.

He squeezed her hand. "You hanging in there?"

Bianchi managed to find a crooked smile for him. "Doing my best."

His smile was just as lopsided. "Ready to chuck it all yet?"

Bianchi bit down on the inside of her cheek. "Don't tempt me." She hadn't managed to let go of his hand yet. It took a conscious effort to do so.

"Just can't help myself, you know that." The smile slid off his face. "How's your hunting going?"

"We got something interesting this morning," Bianchi told him, voice pitched low. Dino's eyes turned sharper and hotter. "Seems promising."

"Mm, that's good to hear. Do let me know how it pans out." Dino smiled at her again and moved away, headed in Tsuna's direction.

"Huh," Gervasio said, quietly enough, but when Bianchi looked at him, he just gave her an innocent smile and would not explain himself.

* * *

"Okay," Eramo said once the last of the other bosses had departed with their Families. She had her arms folded and looked entirely unimpressed with the pomp of the occasion. "So what gives?"

"I have something to discuss with you." Bianchi spread a hand and gestured. "If you'll join me in my office? Gervasio, you too."

"Sure thing, Boss."

Stefano glanced at her, eyebrows raised just so, offering to come along if she wanted him. Bianchi shook her head at him; it had been her decision and it was her responsibility to see the consequences through.

Eramo and Gervasio followed her along to her office; Gervasio gave her a puzzled look when she threw the lock on the door after them. "What's up?"

"There's something we need to talk about." Bianchi went to the sideboard as she gestured them into sitting and poured a round of stiff drinks for all of them.

"I take it that this isn't about a job?" Eramo said when Bianchi handed one cut-glass tumbler to her.

"Not exactly." Bianchi dropped into her chair and toed off her pumps, stretching out her feet and sighing with relief. "What I'm going to tell you has to stay inside this room. That's why I didn't tell you this any sooner—I need it to stay a secret for the time being."

Gervasio's eyebrows started to knit themselves together. "There was something you couldn't tell me? Boss, are you sure you want me as your right hand after all?"

"I would have told you anything else. I have told you everything else. But this touches on you directly. Both of you." And she was stalling. Bianchi permitted herself a fortifying mouthful of scotch and looked at them. "Davide isn't actually dead."

Eramo's face went stiff and Gervasio's knuckles turned white around his glass. "If this is a joke, it's not very funny, Boss."

"It's not a joke." Bianchi looked from Eramo's pinched mouth to Gervasio's knuckles and sighed. "And both of you deserve to be furious with me, if you like. But I didn't know how well the two of you can act and I needed the other Families to be absolutely convinced." She looked them over; Eramo's eyes were glittering and Gervasio looked sick. "And, frankly, I don't need a power struggle in the Falco and I don't want a fiancé. He's not in any shape to lead the Falco or to fend off the fucking Macrini, either, so we have him recuperating under a pseudonym in the best hospital the Falco can afford. He's still in pretty serious condition, but the doctors think his recovery will be very nearly complete."

They were both still staring at her, possibly too furious to do anything else. Then Gervasio drank off the contents of his glass in one go and buried his face in his hands, scrubbing them over his face, and Eramo closed her eyes, letting out a slow breath.

There was one other thing she had to say. "I'm sorry I couldn't tell you sooner."

"You should be." Eramo opened her eyes to glare at Bianchi. "Do you have any idea what these past few days have been like for me?"

"Some idea, yes. As I said, I'm very sorry." She had a perverse urge to ask if it would help to know that it could have been genuine, and quashed it. Instead she met Eramo's gaze as steadily as she could. "It was necessary. Very unpleasant, yes, but necessary." She sighed. "And he's probably safer this way than any of the rest of us. God knows I don't want anyone getting helpful on my behalf. Or for the fucking Macrini to tidy up their loose ends."

"Safe as anyone full of bullet holes can be." Gervasio lifted his head and looked at her, something fragile in his eyes. "He's going to be okay? Really okay?"

"With time, yes. As far as the doctors can tell." And when she had the chance, she'd see about tracking down someone with a Sun affiliation. "He has absolutely the best care available."

He managed a smile then, the first heartfelt one she'd seen on him since Wednesday. "Thank God." He laughed, apparently too giddy with relief to be angry yet.

Eramo, on the other hand, was pissed enough for the both of them. It showed in the hardness of her eyes and the stiffness of her posture. "I assume that we won't be able to see him till the Falco find it convenient."

"Openly, no." Bianchi refused to quail under that blistering glare. "Tell me, have you ever worked as a freelance bodyguard?"

"When I've need to pay the rent."

"If you don't have any other obligations to pin you down, the Falco have a target who could use an extra measure of security." Bianchi raised an eyebrow at her. "Interested?"

"I don't work cheap." Eramo managed a thin smile, one that had no warmth to it. "And you've earned every bit of the asshole surcharge."

Well, that was fair enough. Bianchi inclined her head. "It never pays to skimp on quality."

Eramo nodded, once. "Have your people send me the details by the usual channels." She set her untouched glass down. "Are we done here?"

"We are." Bianchi stood and offered her a perfunctory handshake. "Thank you for stopping by."

Eramo ignored her hand and stalked out without another word.

"She's never going to forget this, you know."

Bianchi glanced at Gervasio as she sat down again. "No, I expect she won't." Forgive, maybe. Someday in the distant future, when this was over and Davide was well again. But forget? No.

"She probably won't ever work for us again, either."

"A pity, but we'll manage, somehow." There were other freelance hitmen out there, after all, ones who were every bit as good as the Wraith was said to be. And now Gervasio was starting to show his own anger. Or perhaps he'd just been waiting until they were alone. "All right. I'm listening."

Gervasio took a deep breath. "You lied to me." He had his hands pressed together, gripping them tightly enough that his knuckles had gone white. "About the only family I have left."

Bianchi met his gaze squarely. "I did. To serve the Falco, not because I wanted to hurt you. I'm sorry. And I promise—on the ring of the Falco—that I won't ever lie to you again."

He looked at her, searching her eyes. "And there's nothing else you're keeping secret from me?"

Bianchi gave that the careful consideration it deserved. "There are things I've done as a hitman working for other Families. I could tell you those, if you wanted to hear them. There are also things I saw and did with the Vongola that I promised never to share with anyone else. I'll break those promises for you. I owe you that much. Where would you like to begin?" It itched at her soul to offer those confidences to him, went against everything Stefano and Reborn had drilled into her about the absolute discretion that hitmen had to offer their clients, but she wasn't a hitman any more. "You asked about the Giglio Nero a little while ago. That's one of the Vongola things. It's a long story, but I've got the time if you do."

Gervasio didn't answer right away. "You won't do this again? Even for the good of the Falco?"

"Not even for the good of the Falco." Bianchi shrugged. "After all, _you're_ Falco. Hurting you just hurts the Family."

He settled back against the seat, slouching into it and relaxing. "All right. That's good enough for me, Boss." He offered her the ghost of a smile. "And you can tell me those stories later, after we've finished pinning the motherfucking Macrini to the wall."

Bianchi sighed then, relief making her hands want to shake. "It's a deal."

* * *

"It's really a pity that you're leaving again so soon, Mother." Bianchi paired that with a suitably dutiful expression. "Are you really sure you need to get back so quickly?"

"If I stayed, I would only be in the way." Her mother's expression was prim. "You seem to have matters quite firmly in hand."

"Well, the Falco isn't going to run itself, you know." Bianchi glanced at the suitcases being loaded into the car. "Are you quite sure you won't stay a few days longer? We didn't really have time to catch up."

"As I said, I think I'd only be in the way."

Yes, her mother was still holding Licia against her, all right. Well, screw it. At least Licia had been around and willing to lend a hand, instead of waiting to be appealed to and begged for help. "You know you wouldn't be. Do say you'll visit, at least." If her mother had the time left. Well, who knew—everything else that she'd seen of that other future had changed. Perhaps her mother was going to live to a hundred in this timeline.

"When time allows, of course."

"Naturally." Bianchi summoned up a bright smile as the staff fit the last suitcase into the car. "I'll look forward to it."

Her mother smiled. "As will I. Now, I should be going; I would hate to miss my flight."

"We can't have that." Bianchi embraced her and exchanged air kisses with her. "Travel safely. And take care of yourself." It was the only thing she could think of to say.

Her mother nodded, brief. "You too. Goodbye."

Bianchi watched her mother slip into the car and arrange herself comfortably. The driver put the car into gear and it pulled away, engine purring as it disappeared down the drive. She didn't let her breath out again until it was out of sight.

That was that.

* * *

Her brother didn't remember to call until the following day, which made a welcome distraction from the paperwork that Bianchi was trying to make sense of. "Hayato," she said, pushing her chair back from the desk and leaning back in it.

"Neesan. You wanted to talk to me?" His tone was all business.

Bianchi smiled, rueful, and spun her chair around to look up at the painting hanging over the mantel. "Yeah. I wanted to know if you were interested in having a memento from the dear departed."

He made a rude sound. "Why would I want that?"

"He had a painting done of your mother." It was quite a good portrait, really. And Gokudera Haruka had been a beautiful woman—the old goat had clearly had exacting taste in women. "It's still hanging in my office. You want it?"

Hayato didn't say anything at all for a long time. Bianchi waited him out, till he finally said, "Yeah. Sure. Why not?" His voice was gruff.

"Okay. I'll have someone pack it up and send it over." Better to be matter of fact about the whole thing. "Anything else of hers I find, I'll send that along, too." Not that she was looking forward to going through her father's private things at all. There would be letters to find, she knew that much, but there might be other things, too, and God only knew what.

"I'd appreciate that, yeah." He paused. "He had it hanging in his _office_?"

Bianchi smiled at the disbelief and disapproval in his voice. "Yeah. I know."

"Your mom must have loved that."

"Sure looked like she wanted to take a knife to it the other day, yeah. But I don't think she was around much to see it, though." Too bad she probably wasn't going to be around to find out that Bianchi had taken it down.

Hayato made a disgusted sound. "Of course not. Jesus, we're fucked up."

Bianchi swiveled her chair away from the painting. "Seriously. It's a miracle that we're as sane as we managed to be. Just imagine what we're going to do to our own kids."

"Nngh. Jesus, Neesan, don't say things like that." His voice was pained. "I don't even want to _think_ about having kids yet."

"Get used to it," she told him, cheerfully ruthless. "Someone's going to have to take care of Tsuna's brats, right?"

"I bet the Tenth just had a cold chill run down his spine, and it's all your fault." Hayato snorted. "So, um. How are things going on the whole Macrini front?"

"We're starting to get some interesting pieces of information. If the Vongola want to help with that, we'd appreciate it." Bianchi rested an elbow on her desk and tucked the phone against her shoulder. "And if the Vongola want to help with other things, that'd be good, too. Provided Tsuna knows exactly what kinds of things I'm planning on doing to the fucking Macrini."

Hayato went quiet. "He... sort of knows. He knows you'll have to do something."

"Something. Yeah." Bianchi sighed. "Have you explained that the Macrini and the Falco have been feuding since the forties?"

"Yeah. He doesn't quite understand why no one's sat you down and made you talk it out."

Oh, God. She knew exactly how earnest Tsuna would look suggesting that, too. "That the kind of help he thinks will work?"

"Kind of, yeah." Hayato sighed. "I've tried to explain how the Macrini are. What they did to the Linardon, how they just don't stop. How they're crazy sort of like Byakuran was crazy. He... doesn't quite believe it. Because if they were that crazy, all of the rest of the Families would have done something about it by now, right?"

"Oh, _Tsuna_." Because what else did one say? "I'm going to shock him dreadfully." It was all well and good to hope that Tsuna would be able to change their world and make it better, but hoping didn't keep her people safe.

"Yeah, probably." He sighed again. "But maybe it's better that it's you who does it. At least you've got a damn good reason."

There was that. "I've got a whole stack of damn good reasons."

"Yeah, seriously. I'll explain 'em to Tsuna, if you need me to."

"I appreciate that." Bianchi sat up agin. "Okay, I need to get back to work. Gotta smack Vieri's hands and tell him to leave the Falco's territory alone."

"Good luck with that." Hayato snorted. "Okay. Talk to you later, Neesan."

"Later," she echoed.

And before she went back to work, she called down to Alfonso to tell him to send someone up to crate up the painting.


	5. Chapter 5

Notes appear in the first chapter.

**

* * *

**

**Part Five**

"All right," Gervasio said, "here's what we've found." He passed the little stack of papers around the table. Bianchi took one and looked at it, though she'd already seen it, had helped Gervasio compile it, in fact. It was a careful outline of all the evidence they'd gathered to lay responsibility for her father's murder at the feet of the fucking Macrini. "As you can see, the first point of interest is that Luciano Falco's bodyguard Edoardo recognized one of the shooters as Bruno Todaro. Edoardo managed to get that information to us before he succumbed to his injuries. Todaro, of course, has a long history of working for the Macrini."

A general murmur of assent ran around the table, all of Bianchi's men nodding along in recognition of the Mountain's ties with the Macrini.

Gervasio waited for them to quiet down before carrying on. "Our second item comes from the Vongola, and has been corroborated by information from our own sources." Gervasio tapped his finger against the paper in front of him. "Records show that the Tirabassi have been in debt to the Risso for a while now. However, the Tirabassi recently made a significant payment on those loans, ceded the Risso a portion of their territory in the north, and are officially debt-free."

"For as long as they can stay that way," Cosimo muttered. That prompted a few snickers around the table, since the Tirabassi never had been good at keeping their money.

"Indeed. However, the Tirabassi haven't been doing any better—or worse—than the rest of us, so we must ask ourselves how they scraped together enough money for a lump-sum payoff." Gervasio gestured at his outline. "Which brings us to point three, the fact that the Macrini's financial records show a shuffling of their assets and a withdrawal from one of their slush funds."

Renzo frowned. "How on earth did we manage to get our hands on _that_?"

"We didn't." Gervasio smiled. "One of the Boss's friends did it for us."

"I know a guy who knows a guy." Bianchi gave them a careless shrug that covered up the hours of phone calls, go-betweens, and the network of favors granted and traded and called in that it had taken to look the Spider up and persuade—him? her? no one actually knew—to hack into the Macrini's accounts for her. "I called in some favors while my old networks were still solid." Which they wouldn't be for much longer; a body had to stay on top of the underground politics of the freelancers if she wanted to get anywhere with them, and things changed very swiftly in that world.

Renzo whistled. "Damn, Boss." Bianchi inclined her head, acknowledging how impressed he was. One didn't normally expect one's boss to be able to dip her own fingers into the work itself, she supposed.

"The amount withdrawn, as you'll note in point four, corresponds roughly with the size of the Tirabassi's debts," Gervasio said. "And in point five, you will see that the Cavallone and the Vongola's sources both agree that there was a flurry of communication between the Macrini and the Tirabassi in the weeks leading up to the Tirabassi's invitation to the Falco. Our own surveillance shows the same thing."

Guiseppe dropped his copy of the outline and looked down the table at Bianchi. "Why are we doing this? We all _know_ the fucking Macrini did it."

Ah. She'd wondered who would be the first to speak up. "Of course we do." Bianchi folded her hands together in front of her and looked around the table at the faces of her people. "It would be perfectly clear to anyone who grew up knowing that the Falco and the Macrini hate each other." She gave them a moment to absorb that. "But I want to make sure than anyone who doesn't understand that can recognize that the fucking Macrini did it, too."

Giorgio raised his eyebrows. "You mean Sawada."

"I mean Sawada." Bianchi traced a finger down their carefully-constructed case against the Macrini. How to explain to them that she wanted to be able to look Tsuna in the eye and know that he understood her reasons, even if he didn't necessarily approve of them? Foolish sentimentality for a boss, and they wouldn't approve. "We're in a unique position to ally ourselves with the Vongola more securely than we have at any other point in our history. I won't throw that away because the Vongola Tenth doesn't understand what we're doing." Tsuna wasn't going to _like_ it, but by God, he was going to _understand_ it. Would have to understand how something like this could happen, if he ever wanted to be able to change their world. "This case is for him." And for her, too, to comfort her conscience on sleepless nights. Even a hitman could have scruples.

"We can't base everything we do around what the Vongola will like," Luigi said, pride stiffening his tone.

"Of course we can't. I didn't say the Vongola. I said _Sawada_. They're not entirely the same thing." Their faces were uncertain; Bianchi suppressed the urge to rub her forehead. "Don't misunderstand me, gentlemen. We're going to see to the Macrini one way or another. I would simply prefer to do it with the Vongola in our corner, is all."

Some of them relaxed; some of them still looked doubtful. Couldn't be helped; they'd see that she meant what she said.

"So how are we going to see to the Macrini?" Cosimo asked, finally. "Just what's so important about having the Vongola to back us up?"

Men sat up a little straighter around the table, eyes gleaming with a common purpose. Bianchi drew a breath and looked back. "We've tried outright war in the past, of course." As had the Macrini, both of their Families struggling over territory and killing each other's people by the score. "That's not my style." She smiled at them, thin. "I'm the Poison Scorpion. I'm a hitman. I prefer to take out my target, and only my target, with as little collateral damage as possible." She let them digest that; at the foot of the table, Stefano was on the verge of laughing. "The fucking Macrini will be expecting a war. They won't be expecting us to try assassination. And I want a single hit, one night to take out the family and the bosses, anyone who might be able to hold the Macrini together." One surgical strike to decapitate the Macrini, and what would be left wouldn't be enough to hold the name together. "That's why we need the Vongola. The Cavallone, too. We need the information their people can get us, and any of the hitmen they can possibly spare."

Giorgio whistled. "Tall order, Boss."

"I know." Bianchi smiled at them, showing them her teeth. "But that's why we'll take our time and do this thing right. And when we're done, the rest of the world will think twice about messing with the Falco."

* * *

If the days before her father's death had passed slowly, the days after the funeral moved fast, filled as they were with Falco business, dealing with the other Families, and plotting against the Macrini. They turned into one week and then two before she quite noticed it. It was just as well that Dino had been circumspect about texting her; by the time Bianchi collapsed into her bed at the end of the day, she barely wanted to look at her phone, preferring to claim what sleep she could.

None of that stopped her from flopping into her bed one night and stabbing out a text to Dino. _will anyone miss rino pozzo nero? because i am going to kill him._

It took a little while for Dino to get back to her. _are you kidding? the rest of us will band together to give you a medal._

_great. it'll be a public service._ It was a miracle that any of the Pozzo Nero ever lived long enough to reproduce; they were universally annoying. And Rino Pozzo Nero was the pinnacle of their breed.

_one that's probably overdue. what has he done this time?_

What _hadn't_ he done? There had been the blatant attempt to usurp the Falco's smuggling ring in the east, and then the smarmy way he'd tried to eel his way out of explaining what the _fuck_ he'd thought he was doing. Bianchi explained that in a few quick words. _could have handled that,_ she added. _but then he fucking tried to grope me on his way out._

She hoped she'd broken his fingers. He'd howled loud enough for it.

Dino's reply consisted largely of several mashed keys. Bianchi laughed a little at that, and the eventual follow-up that was more coherent: _yeah, okay, kill him._ And he sent a third reply. _or i could do it for you?_

Bianchi grinned. _you say the sweetest things to me._

_no i mean it. say the word._

_some things a girl has to do for herself. or the assholes just learn to wait to get you alone._ Unfortunate but true, sadly. God only knew what Pozzo Nero had been thinking, doing that in front of her people. _If_ he'd been thinking; he ought to have known that she was a case of look-don't-touch. But then, perhaps he only had enough blood to think with one head at a time

Dino's reply came slowly. _this happens a lot?_

Oh, Dino. Bless his sweet, polite heart, he really was a _nice_ boy. Bianchi smiled, rueful. It was a pity that there weren't more guys out there like him. _not so much any more. rino's just an idiot._

_clearly. if i can't kill him, can i maim him for you?_

_tempting, but i already broke his fingers, and you'd have to get in line behind uncle stefano and gervasio._ Who had both been livid, of course, and distinctly disappointed that she'd sent Pozzo Nero howling away all by herself.

_i knew i liked them for a reason._

Bianchi chuckled. _yeah, me too. so how are you?_

_mm, not bad. missing you._

_i miss you too._ Bianchi looked at the message, hesitated, and sent it anyway, because it was _true_.

_i think you should come out to dinner so we can talk about the macrini and how we're going to kill them. compare notes and stuff._

_dino._ Bianchi gripped the phone until the case creaked. It was plausible, it wasn't a bad idea, it even made sense—_you know that's really not a good idea._

_no, it's a great idea. we need to talk strategy and how many people you're going to need. how's friday?_

Actually wide open, unless she decided to eat dinner at her desk again instead of in her room and Gervasio kept her company while she did it.

While she dithered, Dino added, _i'll tell my chef to pull out all the stops and we can stay up really late, talking._

_is that what we're calling it now?_ Oh, God, she wanted to say yes.

_dunno. is it working?_

Bianchi laughed in spite of herself. _we shouldn't._

_why not? if we can't have monaco then at least we can have this._

Bianchi typed, _people will talk,_ and then stared at it, because people always talked. She erased it, character by character, and replaced it with, _seven o'clock good for you?_

_seven is GREAT for me._

Bianchi sighed. _okay. i'll see you then._

That earned her a series of smiling emoticons and an _i love you._

_yeah,_ she typed slowly. _me too._

Fuck it. She deserved one good thing for herself, after all.

* * *

Gervasio's expression should have been recorded for posterity. "Boss. Ms. Scorpion ma'am." He stopped, clearly searching for something diplomatic to say, and then gave it up for a lost cause. "Have you lost your damn mind?"

Bianchi sipped her coffee and thought about the question. "Yes, probably." She'd probably lost it the first night she'd agreed to have dinner with Dino.

He covered his eyes. "Shit."

"Cavallone and I do need to discuss the Macrini hit," she pointed out.

It didn't really help. "You could do that over the _phone_! Or have a nice lunch together! Something that clearly isn't all about getting you laid!" He gave her a tragic look. "Do you _want_ me to get grey hair? Can't I just buy you a nice vibrator instead of this?"

Bianchi chose to ignore that offer. "You'll look very distinguished with grey hair."

Gervasio gave her a dour look. "But I don't _want_ to look distinguished. I'm too _young_ to look distinguished."

"Then we'll have to find you a stylist who's good with color," Bianchi told him, brisk.

Gervasio groaned. "Boss, _please_..." Bianchi folded her arms and gave him the steely look she'd learned from watching Hibari. He groaned again. "I hope you know that I will be expensing this hypothetical stylist."

"I'm willing to overlook that."

He sighed. "I'm not going to insult you by asking you whether you've thought this through or not, but you know you can't keep on like this for very long, right?"

And now they came to the real problem. "I know that." Bianchi ran a finger around the rim of her coffee cup. "I'd like to keep on for as long as possible, nonetheless."

She could feel him looking at her. "You really do think a lot of him, huh?"

Bianchi glanced up and saw nothing but sympathy in his expression. "I do." She made a face. "Being stupid about romance runs in the family, I guess." God help them all.

At least she was being marginally more sensible than her father had been. That was some small comfort.

He sighed again. "Okay. So. Dinner Friday night. Security for that, or for overnight?"

"Overnight," Bianchi told him. "We have a lot of talking to do."

Gervasio grimaced. "Guiseppe is going to _scream_ about this. Overnight, God." He scribbled something down on his agenda. "Okay, moving on."

Yeah, Guiseppe really wasn't going to appreciate the trouble she'd be putting him to. The men who worked security never did enjoy it when their charges went haring off on self-indulgent trips. "Thanks, Gervasio."

He made a face at her. "Don't mention it. Please don't mention it."

Bianchi laughed at that and let him move on to talking about the way the Cetrulli were opening negotiations with the Cizeta.

* * *

It only made sense to talk to the Vongola about the Macrini since she was going to start discussions with the Cavallone. Tsuna sent Hayato to do it under the guise of a visit home. It was sneaky of him, in a way. Bianchi admired the deftness of it, even as she felt bad watching Hayato twitch and look around himself with haunted eyes.

It was just as well that Tsuna had sent Yamamoto along, too, to be the opposite of twitchy and to distract Hayato with the occasional well-placed moment of deliberate cluelessness. Yamamoto was undeniably good at that, enough so that they managed to scrape through the discussion without too many problems.

Yeah, Bianchi thought, when Yamamoto caught her eye at one point, this is where Hayato comes from. Explains a lot, doesn't it?

If Hayato noticed, he didn't let on, and plowed through their case against the Macrini with a single-minded determination. "Looks legit to me," he said finally, and sat back, hooking an ankle over his knee and lighting up a cigarette.

"Hah, yeah, me too," Yamamoto chimed in. If she hadn't known better, she would have assumed that he was just following Hayato's lead, but she'd seen him listening as Gervasio described the evidence they'd put together to damn the Macrini, eyes sharpening and turning focused when his easy-going smile never budged an inch.

The two of them were going to make a dangerous negotiating team for the Vongola.

"Will the Vongola find it compelling?" Gervasio asked now.

Hayato looked Gervasio over, exhaling a steady stream of smoke. "Compelling enough to do what?"

Gervasio matched him stare for stare. "To assist us in the strike against the Macrini that we're planning."

"This isn't the Vongola's fight." Hayato tapped the ash off his cigarette. "And the Tenth isn't convinced that violence is the best solution."

Bianchi had _told_ Gervasio as much, and would have thought he'd have believed it, considering how things with the Cetrulli had gone down. She had to suppress a smile at his grimace. "Obviously the Falco don't agree with the Vongola," she said. "Are the Vongola willing to offer any support to our fight?"

Hayato started shaking his head before she'd even gotten it all out. "Probably not." Which was about what she'd expected. "I'll tell him what you've told me today, but he's not a fan of violence, as you know. I don't think he'll go along with any wars you might be planning." He paused to tap the ash off his cigarette. "But we're willing to share reconnaissance with you."

That wasn't anything to sneer at; the more they knew going into the hit, the better, especially since the Macrini had beefed up their security after her father's death. It would have to be enough. Bianchi inclined her head. "We would appreciate that." That business concluded, she glanced at Gervasio. "Why don't you go show Yamamoto around the place and let me talk to my brother for a bit?"

Gervasio didn't bat an eye. "Sure thing, Ms. Scorpion ma'am." He and Yamamoto exchanged friendly grins and assessing glances as they rose and meandered out of the room together.

Hayato snorted. "Ms. Scorpion ma'am? Good Lord, Neesan."

Bianchi shrugged. "Gervasio has a strange sense of humor. But he's worth putting up with it."

"Hope so." Hayato took another drag of his cigarette. "Did the best I could with the Tenth, but the recon's about the best I could get him to commit to. I don't think he's going to change his mind."

"It's still plenty." Bianchi shrugged. "How's he settling in to being boss?" She wondered sometimes whether all his preparation had made the transition easier than her abrupt one had been, or if the sudden shock had been better. But maybe that was comparing apples and oranges.

"Not too badly." Hayato's smile was faint. "You can tell he's happy by how much he flails." Bianchi giggled. "And every time he remembers Kyouko-san's coming out in another month, he forgets to worry about being the Tenth and starts freaking out about her instead."

"Kyouko's coming out?" Bianchi sat up, surprised. "So soon?" She'd thought that the plan had been for Kyouko and Haru to do a year or two of university while Tsuna settled in and _then_ come join the Vongola.

Hayato made a cranky noise around his cigarette. "They said they were tired of waiting, and that they'd be more useful here. And that they missed being at the center of all the fun." He said the last like he couldn't quite believe it. Well, he and Tsuna had both hoped that the girls would change their minds about throwing their lots in with the Vongola.

Bianchi would have told them that it was years too late for that, had she thought they would have listened. "That sounds like them, all right." Oh, it was good to know that they were going to be nearby soon. Email just wasn't the same. "Tell them to come see me when they get settled in. I've missed them."

"Sure, I'll let them know." Hayato glanced down at his cigarette. "You doing okay? With being the boss, and everything?" The question might have sounded brusque to anyone who didn't understand their peculiar relationship.

"Yeah. I mean, well enough. Busy, of course." Bianchi poured herself some more coffee. "I didn't really expect the Falco to fall in line so well. But they'd probably have followed anyone who was ready to aim them at the fucking Macrini."

"Yeah, maybe." Hayato took a final drag off his cigarette and stubbed it out. "But they like you, from what we hear." His smile was thin. "Better than they would have liked me."

She'd expected that he might be thinking something like that and shook her head at him. "You don't know that. You weren't around long enough for them to get to know you." Not that she'd been around for much longer than he had. "I can't blame you for getting out, either. I mean, I ran, too."

"Yeah, I guess." Hayato played with his lighter. "You mad that I left?"

Bianchi looked at him, studying his downcast eyes and the long fingers that had been so good at coaxing music out of ivory keys, and said, "No, not really. I figure we're probably even, all things considered."

He glanced up at her. "Yeah?"

"Yeah." She snorted. "Not like we could go back and change it now, anyway." And trying to mess around with the future and the past... they'd already seen what that could lead to, had they been tempted. She sipped her coffee. "And... it's not bad, running the Family." It was better than she'd expected it to be. She was better at it than she'd thought she could be. Go figure. "There's really only one thing I regret."

Hayato gave her a long look. "Cavallone?"

Bianchi shrugged. "Yeah. What can you do, huh?"

He let out a breath. "I'm sorry."

"Shit happens." And there wasn't much else to say about that. "At least the old goat kicked off before he could get me engaged. This way at least I get to pick out which poor schmuck is going to get put to work on stud duty."

Hayato shuddered. "Jesus, Neesan! I didn't need that mental image, thanks." He made a face when she laughed at his horror. "What about Pasquale Orsini? I hear that he's very taken with you."

Christ, Orsini, that little twerp. "Hah! He's just besotted with the idea of having his own Family without needing to go to the trouble of assassinating his older brothers." Bianchi rolled her eyes. "I wish he'd stop sending me flowers. It's not decent, this soon after the funeral."

Hayato snickered. "Like you give a shit about that."

"Well, it makes for a nice excuse." Even if she was getting tired of wearing black.

"There's that." He glanced at her, half-smile falling away. "You figured out what you're going to do?"

"Not really. Maybe I'll pick someone from inside the Family who's expendable. Or someone too terrified of me to presume too much."

"That's pretty cold, Neesan." He reached for his cigarettes and lit up again.

"That was the point, yeah." Bianchi lifted her eyebrows at him. "You expected something else from me, maybe?"

He took a drag off his cigarette and blew a stream of smoke at the ceiling. "I just think that you should try to find something that'll make you happy."

"If I thought that was an option..." Bianchi let her voice trail off, and then shook herself. "I'll try, of course, but I'm not going to get my hopes up." Wasn't like she was Tsuna, after all. She had to be a realist.

Hayato's mouth crooked. "Well, I guess that makes sense."

"Yeah." Bianchi glanced at her watch. "Come on, let's go see what kind of trouble Yamamoto is getting Gervasio into."

"I wish," Hayato said, getting up from his seat, "that that didn't sound so likely."

Bianchi laughed. "Well, maybe it will be Gervasio getting Yamamoto into trouble."

Hayato just shook his head. "Not going to hold my breath on that one."

Bianchi had to admit that he was probably right not to.

* * *

Later, after they had retrieved Gervasio and Yamamoto from their impromptu sparring match in the back garden and Bianchi had seen her brother off so he could harangue Yamamoto about proper decorum when visiting other Families, Gervasio blotted his split lip and said, "So that's your brother?"

There was no saying how she was supposed to interpret his tone; it was too carefully neutral for her to tell what he thought. "You've seen him before. At the inheritance ceremony."

"Only in passing. Hard to get a real sense of someone like that." Gervasio probed his lip tentatively and applied his tissue to it again. "Looks a lot like his mother, doesn't he?"

"Very much like her, yes." How her father had thought he could pass Hayato off as Costanza Falco's son remained a mystery to Bianchi. And Gervasio still wasn't giving her much of a sense of what he was thinking. "You have a better sense of him now?"

"Mm." Gervasio glanced at her and gave her half-smile around his tissue. "A little bit of one. He wouldn't ever have come back here, would he?"

Bianchi thought about Hayato and the way he'd twitched through their meeting and all the reasons he'd had for leaving and staying away. "...I doubt it." Not even with the fucking Macrini at the door. Probably not even if their father had undergone a personality transplant. And not even if Costanza Falco had promised to keep a continent between them at all times. "There was... there was just too much for him, here. If you know what I mean."

"I have a good idea, yeah." Gervasio probed his lip again and made a face. "He'll be fun to work with across the table." He caught the way Bianchi's eyebrows wanted to twitch up and laughed a little. "Well. He will. It's good to have an honorable opponent."

"I suppose it is." An honorable opponent? Well, Hayato _was_ Gervasio's counterpart in the Vongola—

"Relax, Boss." Gervasio managed to grin around his split lip. "I still like you best."

Bianchi blinked—_oh_. No wonder she'd felt so unsettled. "Was I that obvious?"

"Not really, but this is sort of my job." His eyes were laughing, just a bit. "And I don't want to trade you in for the other model." He wrinkled his nose. "Too uptight, for one thing."

Bianchi snorted. "Hayato has ideas about what's appropriate and what's not." It had been entertaining to watch him balance those ideas against the tough-as-nails punk attitude he'd affected as a hitman, when it hadn't been breaking her heart. "You can blame my father for some of that."

Gervasio made a thoughtful sound. "I can see how that might be the case, yes." He touched his lip again, tentative, and made a sound of relief as he took the stained tissue away and tossed it in the trashcan.

Which made for a good opening. "So are you going to explain why you thought it was a good idea to have a sparring match with Yamamoto?" Bianchi summoned up the most severe look she could. "I hadn't thought you were the type."

Gervasio shrugged. "I'm not. He is."

Bianchi waited, but that was all the explanation he offered. "Indulge me and tell me what you thought that would get us?"

"His good opinion of us, of course." Gervasio shrugged again. "That one's a fighter, isn't he? That's how he makes up his mind about people. Thought I'd give him something to think about when he reports back to Sawada."

Ah. That wasn't entirely a bad idea. "He's not _just_ a fighter. Don't underestimate what he saw while he was watching you and Hayato wrangle with each other." Bianchi shook her head. "He only _looks_ goofy, I promise you."

Gervasio waved a hand. "I believe you. But now he has something else to think about." His expression turned thoughtful. "Looks nice with a sword in his hands, too."

Bianchi twitched. "The only way that could possibly be more disturbing would be for you to be saying it about my actual little brother." Which, God. Meant she was going to need to scrub her brain now that she'd thought it.

She thought he was trying for a sedate, innocent smile, but the wicked glint to his eyes betrayed him. "I'll just have to keep those thoughts to myself, huh?"

"Oh my God, get out of here," Bianchi said, horrified, and threw a wad of paper at him. Gervasio went, laughing all the way.

* * *

"You're in a good mood this afternoon," Rosa said after she and Teo had finished the fittings for the last dress and allowed Bianchi to step down from the stool where she'd been standing for the past couple of hours.

"Am I?" Bianchi paused in the act of slipping back into her blouse and glanced at Rosa.

"Mm, yes. Much more patient than usual." Rosa studied her, tapping a finger against her lips. "If I didn't know better..." She glanced at her son. "Teo, be a dear and go find something to do upstairs."

"Yes, Mama," he said obediently. He bobbed a quick bow in Bianchi's direction. "Have a good afternoon, Miss Falco."

"You too, Teo," Bianchi murmured, doing up the last of her buttons and keeping a wary eye on Rosa as he shuffled out.

Rosa's eyes gleamed with barely-suppressed interest. "My dear, I know it's hardly any of my business, but if I didn't know any better, I'd say there was a man at the bottom of your good mood."

Bianchi's hands froze in the act of checking her hair. "Um."

"I knew it." Rosa was very nearly grinning. "Oh, my dear, this is splendid." Her tone turned wistful. "I suppose you don't have the time to have some tea and tell me about him?"

"There's really not that much to tell," Bianchi said. "It's complicated, really." She twisted a lock of hair back into its place and secured it with a pin. "He has commitments to his Family that make it difficult. Sort of like mine, in fact."

"Mm." Some of the delight faded out of Rosa's eyes. "Married?"

"No. Not yet, anyway." Bianchi shook her head; at least she knew better than that. "But we'll be seeing each other tonight." She smiled. "Have to enjoy life while we can, right?"

"I suppose so." Rosa bit her lip. "Just have a care. Sometimes it's better to have a clean break instead of drawing it out."

"Oh, but that would be _sensible_." Bianchi smiled, wry. "Where's the fun in that?"

Rosa looked at her, sober, and then surprised Bianchi by folding her into an embrace. "Perhaps it will be well," she said. "Where there's life, there's hope."

There was hope and there was _delusion_, but Bianchi didn't say that. "I hope you're right." She released Rosa and stepped back. "But I should be going. I still have some things to take care of this afternoon."

Rosa nodded. "Of course. Let me go find your men for you."

Bianchi drifted out to the front room of the shop as Rosa did, running her fingers over a bolt of slate-blue silk and looking out the plate glass window at the eddying crowds of people on the street, busy with a Friday morning's shopping. She still had the weekly wrestling match with the Falco accounts to look forward to, and the latest batch of reconnaissance from the Macrini to consider—perhaps she'd review that on the drive to Dino's...

Afterwards, she could not say exactly what it was that caught her attention. Perhaps it was a strange movement in the flow of the crowd outside the shop, or instincts honed by ten years of practical training, or the glint of sunlight on a gun's muzzle. Whatever it was, Bianchi was moving before she quite realized she was doing it, throwing herself sideways as the shop's windows shattered inward in a crash of breaking glass and the arrhythmic stutter of gunfire and the sounds of people yelling outside.

Bianchi heard someone snarling as she found cover behind a rack of cloth, woolen tweeds scratchy against her cheek. She realized that it was coming from her own throat as she chanced a glance around the edge of the rack. The gunmen, whoever they were, were already retreating, which was completely unacceptable. Glass crunched under her shoes as she launched herself forward, bypassing the door and leaping through the wreckage in the window. She landed on the sidewalk, crouching low and holding poison cooking in both hands as she scanned the crowd—_there_, the dark-suited trio sprinting for a waiting car.

Bianchi felt the air on her teeth as she drew her arm back and threw. Rage lent power to her arm; the first batch of poison cooking splattered across the hood of the car and sizzled there, eating through the metal and dripping into the engine. The second batch hit one of the men square in the back; he went down with a scream. The third hit another of the men in the shoulder as he turned, gun coming up—

Someone tackled Bianchi, knocking her over and landing on top of her. Bianchi snarled curses, struggling against the sheer bulk of her assailant until his words began to penetrate through the haze of her rage. "—Boss, it's me, Boss, you have to stay down, it's not _safe_—"

"Carlo." Bianchi relaxed, marginally, but only until she heard the crack and pop of gunfire and the strangled whine of an incapacitated car engine. "Take prisoners! That's an order!"

"If we can," he said, still pinning her down to cover her, and folded an arm around her head to tuck it against his shoulder.

Someone howled in the next exchange of gunfire. Then everything went quiet. Carlo's hand stayed spread against the crown of her head as he looked around around. Someone called, "We're clear!"—Bianchi thought it was Mario—and then Carlo was moving, hauling her up like a sack of potatoes and dragging her to a car—her car—and pitching her inside. She had just a brief glimpse of the street with its three sprawled bodies, a car with smoke rising from the engine and a windshield riddled with bullets, and one spreading pool of blood before Carlo hurled himself after her and Paolo floored the accelerator before he'd pulled the door closed after him.

Bianchi started to push herself up from her sprawl across the seat and the floorboard. Carlo's hand settled on her shoulder, heavy. "Please stay down, Boss." He pushed her down again as the car leapt forward.

It was on the tip of her tongue to swear at him before common sense caught up with her. Bianchi slouched lower in the seat, placing her body beneath the level of the windows, and tried to catch her breath. "We lose anyone?"

"Don't think so, Boss." Carlo's eyes never stopped moving as Paolo roared around corners at top speed. He had his gun unholstered and in his hands. "You hurt anywhere?"

That was a good question. Bianchi drew a breath that shook with adrenaline and conducted a swift inventory of herself. Her palms and forearm were scraped and her blouse was a loss, and she was going to have bruises from being slammed into the ground, but beyond that... "I'm okay. Just gonna be sore tomorrow."

"Sorry, Boss."

He didn't sound like it. "Don't be. You were doing your job. Thank you." Jesus Christ, someone had just tried to kill her, and she had a damn good idea who. "Fuck. Those bastards."

Carlo touched his earpiece as Paolo whipped them out onto open road and opened up the throttle. "Mario wants to know what you want done with the live ones."

Prisoners. They'd managed to take prisoners, excellent. "Find out who gave them their orders. Wring them dry of everything they know." Bianchi grimaced at her scraped palms and the blood oozing out of them. "And then dispose of them."

"Got it, Boss." Carlo relayed the orders back to town. Bianchi closed her eyes and sighed, sinking lower in her seat and focusing on taking deep, steady breaths. She was alive and they hadn't lost anyone; nothing else could be more important than that, even if her good mood was ruined beyond all hope of recovery now.

* * *

Uncle Stefano came stomping in as the house doctor was winding the last of the gauze around her palm. He caught Bianchi in a fierce hug that pressed her against his chest. Then he took her shoulders, holding her at arm's length as he barked, "What in God's name do you think you were doing?"

Bianchi blinked at him. "Beg pardon?"

That earned her a quick, sharp shaking, one that made her teeth rattle. "The boys tell me you went after the people shooting at you. All by yourself. Without knowing how many there were or if you had any backup!"

"Oh. That." Bianchi made a face at him as Dr. Masotti began packing up his first aid kit. Uncle Stefano's face darkened. "I guess I did?"

It was always an education to listen to Stefano swear. He came up with the most improbable curses; Bianchi tucked the one about leprous donkeys away for future reference and gritted her teeth when he shook her again. "Of all the foolish, irresponsible things you could have done—!"

"I wasn't going to let them get away," Bianchi told him as Dr. Masotti slipped out. "I really hate it when people try to kill me."

Stefano actually _growled_ at that. "Do you think your people would have cared about that if you'd gotten yourself killed? You're the only boss we have left, damn it!"

Oh. Oh, there was that. Bianchi grimaced and raised her hands, closing them around his wrists. "I know that. It was reflex, Uncle Stefano. I wasn't thinking of that."

"Clearly _not_." He released her shoulders and stepped back, looking her over. Thank goodness she'd had the chance to change into fresh clothes. "But you weren't hurt badly?"

"Just some scrapes when Carlo knocked me over." Bianchi showed him the bandages. "It could have been worse."

"It could have been a catastrophe." He passed a hand over his face. "I'm getting too old for this."

"Bite your tongue." Bianchi rolled her sleeves down. "It's okay. We didn't lose anyone. And we got two of them alive." He gave her a sharp look. "Yeah. We're going to have all the evidence and reason to take out the Macrini that anyone could need." It might even be enough to change Tsuna's mind about lending her some of his people. He hadn't known her father, but he did know her; perhaps he still thought of her as part of _his_ Family. He thought of Dino as Family, after all.

Stefano snorted. "We already had that."

"Yes, well. I suppose so." Bianchi ran her fingers through the mess of her hair. "This just seals the deal, doesn't it?"

Stefano looked at her, eyes gone thoughtful. "It does. Ruthless creature."

Bianchi grinned at him, crooked. "Hey, you raised me. And the boss has to be ruthless." Hitmen, too. She wouldn't have expected quite so much overlap in the basic skill sets involved into those respective positions.

"That's true." He was still looking at her, something moving in his eyes before he shook his head and wrapped his arms around her again. "Thank God you're okay, baby girl."

Bianchi sighed and leaned against his shoulder, drawing comfort from the wiry strength of him and the familiar smell of his cologne. "Yeah." She wasn't going to let herself get the shakes now, damn it, no matter how tempting it was. "I'm pretty glad of that myself."

* * *

The moment she was able to reassure her men that she hadn't sustained any lasting damage from the attack—and had personally thanked each member of her security detail for their protection—Bianchi retreated to the relative peace of her office to deal with the other aftermath of the attack. She called Rosa first, checking to be sure that she and her family were uninjured and to apologize for the damage, which Bianchi promised her would be paid for by the Falco.

That was another sin to lay at the Macrini's feet—they hadn't just tried to kill her, they'd gotten innocent people involved in the attempt. Her people. And that was unforgivable.

Then she had to call Hayato. He sounded irritated when he answered. "Neesan, I'm in the middle of something—"

She interrupted him. "Someone tried to kill me this morning." She stared out into the hallway, which was busy with all the people who were finding excuses to pass by her open door and peek in at her, reassuring themselves that she was still in one piece. "You might want to keep an eye out. They may want to make a clean sweep of it."

"Someone tried to—are you okay? What happened?" he demanded.

"I'm fine. They were sloppy." The more she thought about it, the more she was convinced that they'd seen a chance and taken it, instead of planning ahead. "I was in town. They opened fire on the shop I was in. We're still questioning the survivors."

"You think it was—?"

"I wouldn't be at all surprised." Bianchi flexed the fingers of her left hand, making a face at the stiffness of them. That was going to be irritating until she'd healed. "If it was, I'm not going to wait around for the next attempt. They involved people who aren't Family in this one."

"Any fatalities?" he asked, grim.

"No. Just property damage. But tell Tsuna that we're going to start moving soon, before they have a chance to try it again." And who knew? He might not take an attack on her all that personally, but Hayato was another story. Hayato really was Tsuna's, and a threat to him was a threat to the Vongola.

She heard the soft intake of his breath. "I'll tell him. We'll be in touch."

"I'll look forward to it."

"Yeah." He paused. "Hey. I'm glad you're not dead."

Bianchi smiled. "Thanks, little brother. Take care of yourself."

He promised that he would, and Bianchi ended the call.

There was just one other person she needed to talk to, though she didn't want to. It took a few minutes to work herself up to it. When Dino picked up, she said, "I have to cancel on dinner."

"What? Why?" He sounded disappointed.

Well, he wasn't the only one.

"Someone tried to kill me while I was out running errands this morning." Bianchi kept her tone businesslike and ignored the ugly sound he made. "I think my people would really prefer it if I didn't give whomever it was a second chance." Especially Guiseppe and her security; they were looking particularly tight-lipped this afternoon.

"You're okay? You're not hurt?" The words tumbled out of him, so fast that they were nearly unintelligible.

She let out a breath. "Yeah, I'm okay. Didn't get anything more than a couple of scrapes and bruises. I've had worse training."

"Thank God." That had come straight from the heart. So did his "Who was it? Because I am going to _end_ them."

It probably said something about her that the promise made something warm glow in her chest. "Think you're going to have to get in line. My people aren't real happy at the moment. Neither am I." He made an unhappy sound. Bianchi smiled, knowing it was probably nasty. "But if you ask me very nicely, I'll let you help. How's that?"

"That works for me," he said, tone dark.

"I thought it might." Movement on her peripheral vision caught her attention; Bianchi looked up and saw Gervasio leaning in the doorway. "I gotta go."

Dino drew a breath. "You're sure you're okay?"

"Yeah, I'm fine." She gestured Gervasio in. "I'll talk to you later, okay?"

"Okay. Be careful, will you?"

"I will," she promised as Gervasio came away from the door and closed it after him.

"Good. Love you."

Bianchi bit the inside of her cheek, glanced at Gervasio, and said, "Me too." And she just _dared_ Gervasio to say anything about it.

All he said was "Cavallone?"

"Yeah." Bianchi put her phone aside. "What have you got?"

Gervasio lost his smile. "One of them spilled his guts. The Macrini hired them, all right. They had standing orders to take you out if you gave them any kind of opportunity to do it." To his credit, there was only the mildest note of censure in his voice.

"...fuck." Bianchi pinched the bridge of her nose. No wonder they'd opened fire on her. She must have looked like an easy target. No, she _had_ been an easy target. "Guess I'm grounded till we finish this, huh?"

"Pretty much, yeah." Gervasio looked sympathetic, cold comfort though it was. "Sorry about that, Boss."

"It can't be helped." Bianchi tapped her nails against the desk. "All right. Get in touch with the Vongola and the Cavallone. It's time to end this stupid feud for good."

Gervasio raised his eyebrows. "You sure you don't want to do it yourself?"

"Already did it unofficially." Bianchi flicked her hands at him. "You go and make it all formal and official for me. We'll host a meeting here, or do it over the phone, if Tsuna wants to keep his hands officially clean. I don't care, but I have had e-fucking-nough of the Macrini." And a conference would push Tsuna to commit one way or another.

Gervasio nodded, and quirked an eyebrow at her. "And just what are you going to be doing?"

Bianchi sighed. "Paperwork. The accounting isn't going to do itself, you know."

Gervasio made a face. "Pity, huh?" He looked her over. "You going to be all right?"

"Of course I am." Wasn't the first time someone had tried to shoot her, after all, and at least no one had hit her this time.

Gervasio was still studying her. "Well, if you say so. Just don't work too hard, or I'll have to send someone in to make you take a break."

Bianchi rolled her eyes. "Yeah, yeah. Go on, get back to work, I'm busy."

He snorted at her and went. Bianchi watched him go and called down for a fresh pot of coffee, and drew the first folder from the accountant over to review.

* * *

Bianchi stared at a report and cursed the Vieri with every other breath, making notes about what she'd like to do to Lorenzo Vieri in between possible ideas to counter his latest bid to undercut the Falco's profits in Palermo. When someone cleared his throat, she said, "Go away, Gervasio, I'm busy," without looking away from the notes she was making. "Unless you know how I can gift-wrap a hornet's nest for Lorenzo Vieri."

"...huh. That could be kind of tricky. You'll probably have to wait for a cold morning."

Bianchi's pen skidded across the page as she looked up, but her ears hadn't deceived her. Dino Cavallone was leaning against the doorjamb, hands in his pockets and a grin on his face. "What the hell are you doing here?"

He straightened up and sauntered away from the door, kicking it shut behind him. "Or maybe you could smoke the nest. That's what they do with bees. Might work for hornets, too." He was carrying off the attitude of blithe unconcern fairly well, except for the tightness around his eyes.

"You are the most ridiculous man alive," Bianchi told him, dropping her pen and surging out of her chair to come around the desk. He caught her as she launched herself at him and wrapped his arms around her, pulling her to his chest and kissing her. "No, really, what are you doing here?" she demanded, several breathless moments later. "How did you even get in here?"

"I think I like this Gervasio of yours." Dino lifted a hand to her face, cupping it and smiling down at her. Bianchi suspected him of inspecting her for injuries. "He suggested that I should come to dinner here instead of sitting home by myself."

"That meddling, interfering _bastard_." Bianchi was smiling hard enough that her mouth hurt.

"Well, I think he and Romario might have worked it out together," Dino confessed, grinning back. "Since Romario pretty much shoved me out the door. Said something about how I was fretting too much to be useful."

Fretting too much—ah. "Were you?" she asked, trying not to melt and failing. "Poor Romario."

His smile vanished. "Someone tried to kill you." He looked down at her, sharp eyes lingering on her bandaged arm and hands. "Damn right I'm going to fret."

"Well, they didn't manage it." She stepped back and spread her arms, demonstrating. "See? No bullet holes."

Some of the tightness left his eyes at that; his smile was slow and full of promise. "Think I'd better check to be sure."

"Well," Bianchi said, pulse starting to beat faster as he closed the distance between them again. "Why don't we talk about that over dinner?"

Dino slid his arms around her again, still smiling. "I think that sounds great."

* * *

"So," Dino said later, fingers running up and down Bianchi's side, careful of the bruises that were beginning to rise there. "The Macrini are really starting to tick me off."

"Imagine how _I_ feel." Bianchi settled herself against him more comfortably, tucking her face against his throat and enjoying the last traces of the cologne lingering there.

Dino curled his arm around her, pressing her close. "Yeah, I think I can guess." He went quiet, thoughtful. "Think you're right. This isn't going to end till one side or the other is gone."

"Nope. And if it's us, you know they'll just find someone new to beat up after we're gone." The Linardon hadn't even been buried, the ashes of their Family still smoking, before the fucking Macrini had turned on the Falco, renewing the hostilities between them.

"That's not going to happen." Dino's voice was firm. "We're not going to let it."

Bianchi sighed as Dino slid his fingers into her hair, stroking through it. "At least there aren't any kids." Nothing was worse than a hit that involved kids. He made a quiet sound, acknowledging the point, and Bianchi shook herself. "This is depressing. Tell me something nice."

"What kind of nice?"

"I don't know. Something that doesn't have to do with business or Family. Or the fucking Macrini." Bianchi made a face. "Especially something that doesn't have to do with the fucking Macrini."

"Mm, tough order." Dino wound a lock of her hair around his fingers. "Huh, okay. How's this? So the first thing I thought when I met you was 'Damn, she's pretty.'"

When they'd met—that had been at one of her father's parties, hadn't it? When her father had been talking to the new young boss of the Cavallone, and had introduced her to him? Bianchi raised her eyebrows. "You think that way about many eleven-year-olds, or am I just special?"

"What? Huh? What are you talking about?" Dino lifted his head, craning it to look at her.

Bianchi huffed. "Just which first meeting were _you_ thinking of?"

"The one where the Ninth called us in and told us Reborn was asking for backup in Japan." Dino let his head fall back against the pillow. "Why, which one were you thinking of?"

"It was a party, here. You'd just taken over the Cavallone." And had looked rightly terrified, as she recalled, while her father had been bringing her out to show the world that he still had one child left.

Dino hummed. "I don't remember—no, wait, I take it back. I do remember." He paused. "You, uh. Filled out really nicely. Ow!"

Bianchi pinched him again for good measure. "No one's good-looking when they're eleven."

"...nothing I say right now is going to be the right thing, is it?" His voice was doleful.

"Probably not."

"Right. Can we skip the part where I cram my foot even deeper into my mouth and go straight to the part where I tell you how beautiful you are?"

Bianchi pretended to think about it, just to let him dangle, before shrugging. "Sure, why not?"

"Much obliged." Dino ran his fingers through her hair and traced them down her spine. "I do think you're the most gorgeous woman who ever lived and breathed, you know."

"Mm." Bianchi smiled. "Flattery will get you nowhere, Cavallone."

"Just as well I'm not using flattery, isn't it?" Dino's voice went softer. "I love you."

How was it that she'd heard him say it before and still found it stealing her breath when he murmured it against her ear like that?" "Dino..." Bianchi raised herself up to look at him.

He smiled at her; it was crooked and wry and utterly sincere. "Well. I do." He reached up to her, brushing his fingers along her jaw. "There isn't any point in pretending that I don't."

"I guess not." Bianchi leaned into the touch of his fingers. "Me too." For all the good that it did them.

But maybe it was worth it to say out loud, just for the way the smile spread across his face as he drew her down to him.

* * *

Bianchi watched Dino shuffle through the early-morning dimness of her bedroom. When he paused in the middle of pulling on his slacks to yawn hugely, she said, "I could call down for coffee."

The comment startled him; he hopped around, coming within a hair's breadth of falling over. "Did I wake you?"

"Mm, probably." Bianchi stretched, slow, wincing at the pop of her joints and the soreness of her bruises. He hitched his slacks up over his hips and padded back over to the bed. "I don't really mind, anyway." She caught the hand he reached down to her and turned it over to kiss his palm. "Not staying for breakfast?"

"I wish I could." The mattress dipped under his weight as he sat. "Romario likes to keep me on a short leash."

Pity. "There's time for a cup of coffee, surely."

He did think about it; she could see him weighing it, trying to puzzle out whether he could eke out that much time or not, before he shook his head. "If I stayed for coffee I might as well stay for breakfast."

Which had been the general idea. "Too bad." Bianchi held onto his hand a moment longer before she released it.

"It really is." He stroked the hair back from her face before hauling himself back to his feet with a sigh.

Bianchi watched him finish dressing, eyes following the dip and flex of his spine as he leaned over to retrieve his shirt from the floor and the casual rumple of it as it settled across his shoulders, and the way he stuffed his tie into his pocket. It wasn't _fair_ for him to be such a pretty man.

She kept that thought to herself and slid out of bed while he hunted around for his socks. Her robe was hanging over the bathroom door and Ricardo was already awake when she called downstairs. He told her that the Cavallone car and men were already waiting.

He sounded a little confused when Bianchi told him to send someone to raid the kitchen for a travel mug and some coffee, but assured her it would be ready.

"Your car is here," Bianchi said when Dino's arms wrapped around her waist. She leaned back against his chest as he nuzzled the side of her throat.

"Figured it would be." He didn't move to let her go.

Bianchi covered his hands with her own. "I can't decide whether this was a good idea, or a terrible one."

He sighed, warm against her ear. "Both, I think."

She closed her eyes, resting her head against his shoulder. "Sounds about right."

"It's a real pity that Monaco is out of the question."

He sounded so gloomy that Bianchi couldn't quite stop herself from laughing. "Yeah, it really is." She turned and wound herself around him, drawing his face down to hers for a kiss. "Go on," she said against his lips. "Before we forget that we have to be responsible people."

"Responsibility is overrated." But he released her a moment later and let her see him to the door, where there was a yawning member of the staff waiting. "I'll talk to you later?"

"Of course you will," Bianchi said. She watched them disappear around the corner before shutting the door and sighing.

* * *

Gervasio strolled into her office with a smile as smug as a cat's. "Morning, Ms. Scorpion ma'am. How are you? Sleep well last night?"

"You are a meddling bastard," Bianchi informed him, since he obviously needed to hear it. Not that it affected his grin in the slightest. She frowned at him; he ignored that, too, and she relented. "I am well, thank you for asking."

That just made him grin all the wider. "Splendid to hear it. You were looking a little peaky yesterday afternoon."

"And I supposed that's what possessed you to invite Dino Cavallone out so we could scandalize the whole household?" She did what she could to make the question drip acid, though his complacent grin suggested that the effort wasn't worth it.

"Oh, Boss." Gervasio shook his head at her. "Don't you realize that it's the twenty-first century? No one expects you kids to be chaste any more, not with your wild ways and crazy, rock-and-roll lifestyles."

Bianchi stared at him. "I've read your file, Conti. I know you're only a few years older than me."

"With age comes wisdom," he agreed, nodding.

There was nothing else to do then but peg him in the head with a wad of paper.

He just laughed and held up his hands. "I think you're worried about nothing. You had a crappy day yesterday. And it'd be different if either of you were married or involved. But you're not, and people are mostly indulgent."

Bianchi fixed her sharpest gaze on him. "Mostly?"

Gervasio coughed into his fist, delicately. "There might be some question as to whether Cavallone is quite _good enough_ for our fearless leader. And a few mutters about what will happen if he should happen to be careless of her tender feelings."

Bianchi stared at him; he smiled back, guileless. "Please tell me you're joking." He had to be joking; there was no way her Family could possibly be that complacent about this.

"Would I joke about something so important?" Gervasio's smile turned gentler, then. "Your Family is fond of you, Boss, and they want you to be happy. You may as well get used to the idea."

"God only knows why."

His tone turned dispassionate. "You're young and pretty." He held up a hand, ticking the points off on his fingers. "You're clearly determined to do the right thing, even if it costs you. People know your family kind of sucked, but you came back anyway. You're tough. You're the only Falco we have left. And you're the underdog against the fucking Macrini. Should I go on?"

Her face felt like it was on fire. "Only if you want to embarrass me to death," she muttered, and buried herself in her coffee.

"You did ask." Gervasio pulled out his planner. "Anyway, shall we get started?"

Anything to shut him up. Bianchi settled back in her seat and gestured. "Please."

* * *

Tsuna had the good sense not to send Hayato to the council that Gervasio arranged. Bianchi _hoped_ that meant her little brother had the common sense to be keeping himself safely behind Vongola lines and away from any Macrini hirelings who might be tempted to use him for target practice. Not that Hayato was particularly known for his common sense, but one could hope.

Tsuna sent Yamamoto again, accompanied by Ryouhei and Chrome in Hayato's stead. The three of them ranged themselves along one side of the long table in the conference room to face down her own people. If they were aware that the Falco underbosses were giving them doubtful looks, they didn't let on. Yamamoto was cheerfully nonchalant, Ryouhei was oblivious, and Chrome was her usual font of serenity. Looking at them, trying to see them as her people would, Bianchi supposed she could understand how the three of them would look: three teenagers, two grinning boys and one waif of a girl, as the envoys of the Vongola? It was ridiculous enough to be an insult.

At least Tsuna hadn't sent _Lambo_, she thought, and concealed the smile that provoked.

When the staff ushered Romario and one of the Cavallone underbosses—introduced to the room as Sergio Caraceni—and they'd settled themselves, Bianchi cleared her throat. "Now that we're all here, let's get started. I appreciate your coming out this afternoon, and trust that the Macrini won't appreciate it at all."

That got the little rustle of laughter she'd hoped it would. She waited till it died away before continuing. "I'm tired of the Macrini trying to destroy my Family, people. I'm ready to put a stop to it, for once and for all."

She didn't have to know how to read lips to know that the word Ryouhei had just mouthed was "Extreme!" and was grateful that he hadn't said it aloud.

Chrome spoke up. "For once and for all, you say? What does that mean, exactly?"

Ah. Not Chrome speaking. Well, it was useful of Mukuro to cut straight to the heart of things. "It's time to end this." Bianchi met Chrome's level gaze, not bothered by the sardonic curve of her lips. "And the only thing that will do that is for one of our Families to be destroyed. I do not intend for it to be the Falco."

"Do unto them before they do unto me," Mukuro murmured through Chrome's lips. "Charming."

"Tsuna hasn't changed the world yet, Mukuro," Bianchi told him, ignoring the way that made some of the faces on the Falco's side of the table change. "As much as I'd like to wait for him to do it, we're under the gun now."

"So defensive." One of Mukuro's mocking little smiles curved across Chrome's face. "Have I touched on a nerve, perhaps?"

"Nerves or not, the Macrini _did_ launch an unprovoked assault on the Falco Ninth that resulted in his death, and they did try to assassinate the Falco Tenth three days ago," Cosimo said. "Any action the Falco take now is self-defense."

"Oh, naturally." Chrome's smile crept wider. "Very natural, in fact. Kill or be killed."

"Precisely," Bianchi said. "And, frankly, I'm attached to breathing."

Yamamoto cleared his throat. "Tsuna wanted me to ask if there wasn't anything he could do. Perhaps speak to Ivo Macrini? Some kind of sanctions against his business?"

Bianchi took a sip of her water and waved at Renzo to keep him quiet. "Was Hayato in the room when Tsuna suggested that?"

Yamamoto's grin was rueful. "Yeah. He got kind of loud."

"I thought he might. But you may tell Tsuna that as much as I appreciate the offer, it won't work. And if he doesn't believe me, then he should ask the Timoteo how well that worked when the Eighth tried it. And when he tried it after her." The Vongola just couldn't manage to keep their noses out of other Families' business, sometimes; the only saving grace about it was that even they weren't always successful.

Yamamoto gave her a philosophical shrug that said he'd had to try, for Tsuna's sake.

Romario cleared his throat then. "What kind of action are the Falco planning on taking?" Helpful of him, that; it was good to have the Cavallone already in her pocket.

Bianchi glanced at Gervasio. "A hit," he said. "As precise as we can make it, to take out the Macrini family itself and as much of the Macrini's infrastructure as possible. Preferably all at the same time, or as close to it as we can manage."

"We're mustering our people at the moment," Bianchi added. "I'd like for the Macrini to believe that we're preparing for yet another all-out war with them, though I want to avoid that if at all possible. Too many people die in wars."

"You want to coordinate that many hits all at the same time...?" Yamamoto stared into the distance, chewing on his lower lip. "Tricky."

"Though not impossible. We'll have surprise on our sides." Bianchi smiled. "The Falco have always met the Macrini head on, but that's not my style." She tapped the list of names sitting in front of her. "We've been watching the Macrini for years, more closely than any of the other Families have." That was the nature of a feud, after all. "We know the targets to hit, and we know a lot of their habits already. What we need is the people who can carry out the actual hits themselves."

And if they all played their cards just right, the Vongola and Cavallone could walk away afterwards, pretending that they hadn't had anything to do with it. The world would suspect otherwise, but they wouldn't be able to confirm anything, which was all that really mattered.

"No one's data can be perfect, of course." Bianchi watched Yamamoto and Ryouhei glancing at each other. "Any additional information the Vongola can give us will be helpful. And, naturally, the Macrini's holdings will be in disarray after the hit. Any Family that's paying attention will be in a good place to sweep in and take control of things."

That still made Giorgio look as though his stomach hurt, but it couldn't be helped. The Falco had to give something in exchange for any aid it received. Besides, the thought of trying to take all of the Macrini's territory and administer it when half of the people there would hate her just for her name made Bianchi's head hurt. The Vongola and Cavallone were welcome to take the bulk of that logistical nightmare if they wanted it.

The offer made Romario's eyes turn brighter, which wasn't a surprise. "Of course, the Cavallone will be pleased to let you make use of our best hitmen."

Which Dino had already told her privately, but the public offer was useful, too, especially if it put pressure on the Vongola. Bianchi inclined her head, acknowledging the offer. "The Falco are most grateful to hear that."

"We'll have to talk to Tsuna," Yamamoto said, candidly. "I don't know how he's going to feel about the whole killing people thing."

No surprises there, either. "Tell him I'll be happy to talk to him directly, if he likes." Bianchi permitted herself a thin smile. "I'm afraid it can't be face to face, unless he wants to come visit, since my people are reluctant to let me go outside. They dislike it when people try to shoot me, you see." And let Tsuna make what he wanted of that.

Chrome's smile suggested that at least one of them had taken her point.

Bianchi leaned back in her seat and sipped her water. "Let us brief you on our proposed targets. Cosimo?"

He nodded and took over the description of the Macrini targets and their habits, mostly for the Vongola's benefit. Bianchi only listened with one ear. The Falco had several hitmen of their own, and a few more on retainer that she trusted enough to send out on this hit—Stefano had certified them all himself. Dino had promised her an even half-dozen more from the Cavallone ranks. If Tsuna got cold feet about sharing the Vongola's hitmen, it would be tight. Not impossible, but tight.

Well, if she had to recruit from the freelancers, she would. That's what they were there for, and there were solid men and women out there who knew how to keep their mouths shut. She'd make do.

"Do you think the Vongola will go for it?" Renzo asked later, when Bianchi had smiled and shaken hands and seen the Vongola and the Cavallone out, and it was only the Falco left sitting at the table.

"Could go either way." Bianchi stretched her back, hiding a grimace at the bruises that twinged as she did. "I did my best to make it clear that I'm serious and that I'm trying to avoid killing anyone that I don't have to. The rest is up to Tsuna."

Cosimo shook his head, ponderously. "Giotto Vongola must be spinning in his grave."

When they asked her why she was laughing, all Bianchi could do was shake her head and tell them that they wouldn't understand, even if she could explain it.

* * *

Bianchi put her pen down when Gervasio came skulking into her office and threw the lock on the door behind him. "You look like you're up to something."

He didn't bother denying it and just grinned at her, eyes twinkling. "The Wraith decided to report in."

That explained some of it; Gervasio was always pleased to have word of his brother. "_Did_ she." Bianchi waited while Gervasio made himself comfortable. It must have been a reasonably good report, since Gervasio was smiling so widely. "And what did she have to say?"

Gervasio grinned at her some more, till Bianchi could feel her hackles rising out of an instinct for self-preservation. "Well. Until they legalize bigamy, your virtue is safe from my brother." He mused on that. "Or maybe it's the other way around."

Bianchi hope that she was looking gratifyingly stupefied for him. "What?" Bigamy—surely they hadn't—

Gervasio threw his head back and laughed. "Oh, man, I wish I could have been there to see the look on his face," he chortled.

Bianchi waited for as long as she could before saying, "I'm sure I'd agree, if you'd just let me in on the joke."

Gervasio snickered some more before he finally got down to it. "Well, the way I understand it, she decided that she might as well take advantage of the fact that he can't exactly run away at the moment, and hauled a priest in when he wasn't looking." Gervasio's teeth gleamed. "Guess she didn't quite trust you not to snap him up after all. Or wanted to make sure he didn't get away."

She'd only met Alessia Eramo twice, but Bianchi could imagine either being the case. "Well, I'm much obliged to her for it. And I'm sure they'll be very happy." And Davide was married—safely married—and no threat to her now.

Gervasio was right to be grinning. Bianchi couldn't help smiling herself.

"If I know Alessia, she wouldn't allow it to go any other way." Gervasio snickered again. "I wonder what she told that priest."

"Something persuasive, no doubt." Bianchi waited for him to stop laughing. "And other than freshly married, how is Davide doing?"

Gervasio sobered. "Recovering, still. Starting in on physical therapy and giving his therapist hell, by the sounds of it."

"Still better than the alternative," Bianchi murmured.

"Hell yes, it's better than the alternative." Gervasio went quiet, probably thinking of those handful of days when he'd thought it had been true. "Alessia said to tell you that she wants in on whatever it is you're planning for the Macrini."

"I'd hoped she might." And that was good; one more gun for their side of the tally. "I assume you told her we'd be in touch?"

"Yup. I figured you'd want her to have the chance, considering." Gervasio stopped and twiddled his thumbs. Bianchi waited for him to come to his point. "So. Any word from the Vongola?"

"Not yet." Twenty-four hours and Tsuna was still thinking. Didn't really bode well. "I'll give him a little longer and then give him a nudge."

Gervasio looked up from his hands. "You don't think he's going to do it, huh?"

"Probably not," she admitted.

He sighed. "Well, you'd know better than most. His loss."

"Our loss, you mean." Well, there was no helping Tsuna's scruples. Bianchi picked up a folder and handed it across the desk. "While you're here, take this, I'm done with it."

He glanced at it. "The Magri already? Damn, Boss, you're like a machine."

"It's amazing how much work you can get done when you're focused. And there isn't some bum sitting in your office, talking your ear off."

Gervasio laughed. "I'll keep an eye out for those bums, then," he said, and ambled out again.

Bianchi didn't go back to what she'd been doing right away, considering the issue of Alessia, who still routed all of her reports through Gervasio. Would she be content to let Davide return to the Falco after the Macrini job? Bianchi couldn't imagine it, nor could she quite imagine Davide being happy to leave the Falco. Not without a good reason to do it.

Huh. That was going to be a problem.

Bianchi frowned over it for a moment longer before setting it aside to think about later, and went back to work.

* * *

Bianchi was on the verge of giving Tsuna the nudge she'd mentioned to Gervasio when he finally called; she was a bit more curt when he identified himself than she might have been otherwise as a result of that. "Tsuna. I was about to call you myself. What sort of decision do you have for me?"

"You're really determined to do this?" His voice was quiet.

Bianchi grimaced; how did he manage to sound so young and so _old_ at the same time? "I am." No point in pretending otherwise and no point in pretending to be sad about it, either. "What sort of support will the Vongola give me?"

His sigh was so soft as to be nearly inaudible. "You can count on us for information."

Bianchi made a face since he wasn't there to see her. Of course. "But not people?"

"I can't order them to get involved in something that isn't their war." He sounded like might have regretted it, a little. Regret didn't do her much good, though. "I wish you hadn't asked that of me."

Bianchi rubbed her forehead. "I _told you_ that you shouldn't have offered to get the Vongola involved in all this." Perhaps he would stop and think next time instead of making impulsive, generous offers.

"You did. Maybe I should have listened." He sighed again. "I'm also not ordering anyone to stay _un_involved."

Bianchi dropped her hand from her forehead, attention suddenly entirely his. "Tsuna?"

"...Reborn may have kicked me in the head a couple of times," he admitted. His voice was rueful. "He reminded me that I have to honor my word. He sends his regards, by the way, and says you can count on him."

God bless Reborn's wizened, blood-thirsty little heart. "He manages to make himself persuasive when he wants to be, doesn't he?" She would have liked to have listened in on that conversation—it was always entertaining to watch Reborn use that blunt logic of his on _other_ people.

"He does. Bianchi-san, do you really have to kill that many people?" His voice was plaintive.

Bianchi refused to let that move her. "Unless you want me to stand back and let them kill me, yes, I really do." She hardened her heart against the sound he made then. "And they wouldn't stop with me. They'd go after Hayato, too."

Tsuna tried to protest that. "But he's—"

"He's Falco, too. Legitimate or not, everyone knows whose son he is." Why else would the two of them gone unaffiliated for so long, if not because everyone had known whose children they were? They'd both been damn good at their jobs, after all. Still were.

Tsuna went quiet; Bianchi let him process that. When he finally spoke, his voice was heavy. "It shouldn't _be_ like this."

Bianchi pressed her lips together. "Then change it. I'll stand behind you to help you do it, but only if I can survive long enough to do it." Ruthless, maybe, but the sound he made then said she'd hit the mark. "Tell the ones who're interested in helping to get in touch with me, or send them along with the recon."

"...right. I'll do that." He sounded resigned.

"Oh, and one more favor." He wouldn't mind this one, and it was the least she could do for him in exchange for all that she was asking of him. "Keep my idiot brother at home, okay? I'm kind of fond of the little twerp, and I don't want to lose the only family member I actually like to those Macrini bastards."

Tsuna actually managed a wan little breath of laughter at that, which was a good sign. He'd pull through this, she thought, however much he disliked it. "Okay, I can do that."

"Thanks. I appreciate it." Hayato might not, but that was going to be Tsuna's problem, not hers. Well, it was a good thing that she'd never claimed to be a nice person.

"You're welcome, I guess. We'll be in touch."

"I'll look forward to it." Bianchi ended the call and exhaled before executing a brief, seated shimmy of delight and relief.

She was going to have to do something _really_ nice for Reborn's next birthday to thank him for his help.

* * *

Of all the Vongola Bianchi might have expected to see take up the Macrini mission, Chrome was very nearly the last on the list. Nevertheless, she arrived with the rest of the little Vongola delegation and a stack of information about the Macrini's habits that was more detailed than anything they'd compiled themselves.

"I thought you and Mukuro weren't particularly pleased by this little project?" Bianchi said when she'd found a moment to draw Chrome aside.

Chrome blinked at her once, slowly. She'd grown in the past year; they saw nearly eye to eye now. "Mukuro-san is... bored by what is happening. I am not." The smile that touched her lips was swift and small. "You've always been kind to me. I appreciate that. And the chance to repay that kindness."

Bianchi did what she could to keep the surprise off her face, though Chrome probably saw through that effort. "I... thank you." She hadn't thought of herself as having been particularly kind. It had only made sense to include Chrome with Kyouko and Haru—not that Chrome had ever needed the kinds of tutelage the other two had. "I'm glad that you're here."

Chrome nodded once and slipped away to stand near Yamamoto, leaning on her trident and listening to what he was saying to Romario about the map they were examining.

Reborn strolled over then. "Being a boss seems to be agreeing with you."

Bianchi opened her arms for him out of reflex and ignored his smirk when he sprang up and made himself comfortable against her chest. "Does it?"

He peered up at her, black button eyes scrutinizing her. "I think so. I wondered, when you fought it for so long."

"If it has to be done, you might as well do it properly." One of the first lessons he'd taught her when she'd first come under his care. Bianchi turned and surveyed the roomful people—most of them Falco, or hitmen, or both.

"You always were good at the basics. Connecting them to the larger picture, eh." A tiny Reborn shrug that indicated his despair in his students' intelligence went with that.

"Better late than never," she told him.

His snort made it clear what he thought of _that_. "Take me over to Stefano."

Bianchi obliged him, drifting over to where Stefano was arguing logistics with Eramo. Stefano broke off what he was saying to hail Reborn. "Molesting my boss? Bad form, Reborn."

"Bianchi and I have a special relationship. I wouldn't expect you to understand." Reborn jumped down from her arms to stand on the table and peer at the map spread out beneath his feet. "You're taking Ivo Macrini yourself? At your time of life?"

"Out of respect for our long friendship, I'll pretend that I didn't hear that." Stefano leveled a look on Reborn that could have cut glass. Reborn ignored it. "As it so happens, Ivo Macrini happens to have something I want."

"Which is all well and good, but you're not going after it alone," Alessia said, voice flat. "You're good, but not as good as you used to be. I'm going with you."

Stefano's voice was just as flat. "I work alone."

"So do I, but I'll make an exception just this once for your decrepit hide." Alessia folded her arms, matching him glare for mulish glare. "Get over it, old man."

Stefano's face was starting to darken; Bianchi thought that perhaps it was time to intervene before things could turn truly ugly. "Uncle Stefano," she said quietly, waiting for him to rein in his temper and acknowledge her. "The fucking Macrini have already done enough harm to this Family. I want you to come back from this mission every bit as much as I want Ivo Macrini dead. Maybe more." He still looked inclined to be stubborn, so she added, "I don't know what I'd do if you didn't come home. I'd never forgive myself."

He scowled at her. "That's not playing fair, baby girl."

"I'm not playing fair. I'm playing to win." Bianchi folded her arms. "Please don't make me have to turn this into an order."

Stefano gave her a long look, but finally bowed his head a few grudging degrees. "Yes, Boss."

"Thank you." That was one less thing to have to worry about, thank God; whatever else complicated their relationship, she could count on Alessia to see him home.

Reborn tipped his head back, looking up at her. "I suppose she didn't turn out too badly after all."

"Possibly not," Stefano agreed. "Even if she does keep forgetting that the front lines aren't her place any more."

"Oh, don't rub it in." It was bad enough that every voice in the room had shouted her down when she'd suggested that she might participate in the hit herself. The prospect of having to wait to hear how it was going might turn out to be more than it was possible to bear.

Stefano's mouth quirked just a bit. "I'm only making sure that you hadn't let it slip your mind, kiddo."

Bianchi relaxed a little at the pet name; no grudges being held there, at least. "I wouldn't dream of it." She nodded at them and drifted away so they could get on with their plans.

Gervasio joined her, bringing a cup of coffee for her with him. "Get Stefano settled?"

"More or less." She cradled the cup under her chin, inhaling the steam rising from it.

"I thought he looked like he'd been sucking on a lemon." Gervasio snorted softly and took a sip of his own coffee. "Ought to let him start thinking about retiring, you know."

She did know. She just didn't know quite how to accomplish that. "I think it would hurt his feelings."

Gervasio hummed over the rim of his cup. "Not if you came at it from the right angle."

Bianchi glanced at him. "And what angle would that be?"

"Mm, I'm still working on that." He frowned, thoughtful. "Maybe a job where he spent his time training the hitmen who are coming up through the ranks. And I could always use some more help running this place."

Bianchi let that pass unremarked. "Keep thinking about it." At least the question of how to get Stefano to slow down was as perplexing for him as it was for her.

He saluted her with his coffee cup and ambled away, heading for the cluster of the Falco hitmen. Bianchi let him go and stood back, watching the rest of the room.

The problem with giving a roomful of consummate professionals a job was that they _were_ professionals and certainly didn't need her to stand over their shoulders to supervise their work. Pity, that. Bianchi swallowed her frustration with the coffee and stood out of the way, doing her best to let them get on with it.

Good intentions could only take a person so far. Fortunately, Gervasio came to Bianchi's rescue before her impatience could get the better of her. "Maybe you should start thinking about what's going to happen after this is all over with," he suggested. "While they worry about their planning."

As dismissals went, it was a gentle one. It was still a dismissal and Bianchi had to grind her teeth over it for a moment before she could admit that he had a point and made herself retreat to her office, where she couldn't be tempted to interfere.

* * *

At least someone was mourning her father properly, Bianchi thought when she saw the subdued dark greys and deep blues that Licia was wearing and the fresh thinness of Licia's cheeks. Someone needed to do it, even if Bianchi herself didn't care for the job herself.

But there was plenty of strength in Licia underneath all that fragile beauty; after half an hour of talk, she set her empty coffee cup aside and said, "I believe this isn't purely a social visit?"

"Not entirely, no." Bianchi laced her fingers together and gave her a direct look. "We're in the middle of planning something that will make me want to celebrate if it all goes as I want it to. I think a party will be in order."

Licia pursed her lips. "A party? It's only been a few weeks since your father—" She stopped, giving Bianchi a closer look. "But perhaps this is a party to emphasize that the Falco don't care what the other Families think?" she hazarded.

Really, the woman was a treasure. "Something like that." Bianchi let her smile show her teeth. "Maybe with a measure of 'And we're strong enough that you can't touch us, anyway' thrown in, too."

Licia absorbed that. "This something that you're planning is... significant, then."

"Very significant." Bianchi smiled as demurely as she knew how. "I know you'll understand if I can't tell you the details."

Licia's smile was genuine, if faint. "It would not be anything I'm not used to."

Perhaps it wasn't, at that, given her father's tendency to keep secrets. Bianchi grimaced at the thought. "I wouldn't be able to stand that, myself."

"No, you wouldn't." Licia's smile was wry. "You're not that kind of person."

Perceptive of her. "Not really, no. Bad enough that I'll be stuck behind the scenes to wait for word from my people. If I didn't even know what was happening..." Bianchi shook her head. "No, thank you."

"Luciano was the same way." Licia smiled at the way that made Bianchi sputter. "He was. He said it was the worst part of being a boss." She paused. "It drove him up the wall, those years when he didn't know where you and your brother were, or what you were doing. Or so he told me." Her laugh was a little rusty. "That was before my time, of course. He told me, once, that as much as it annoyed him that Timoteo Vongola had taken you in, he couldn't help being grateful for it. The Vongola look after their people, after all."

Bianchi suspected that she was staring, but that was a side of her father she'd never suspected existed. "I didn't know that."

Licia looked down. "You didn't really know him. Which is funny, because you're very like him. You look like your mother, but you take after him."

Just as well that Licia wasn't looking at her; she couldn't see the way that Bianchi rocked back in her seat. "No wonder he and I never got along." She even managed to say it steadily.

Licia looked up again, glancing at her. "He was good at being a boss. He wasn't good at being a father." Her mouth quirked. "He told me that, too. The week you came home."

Had he really? "Understatement of the century, there." And far too late now for her to do anything about it.

Licia laughed again, shaking her head. "I suppose. He wished you were just a brilliant young underboss working for the Falco. He said he would have known how to handle you that way."

Bianchi had to take a hasty drink of cooling coffee to hide her expression. "Your words or his?" she asked once she'd mastered herself.

Licia raised her eyebrows. "His, of course." She peered at Bianchi and frowned. "You didn't know that?"

"One of the last things we did before he died was have a fight. Mostly over my unbecoming behavior. And how I couldn't be trusted to attend negotiations," Bianchi told her, hearing the detachment in each clipped sentence. "I assumed that he thought I was a disappointment. Not a son who could follow after him. And not a daughter who would reflect well on him." She would never have imagined that he'd thought of her as anything close to someone who might be described as _brilliant_. God knew he'd never given _her_ any sign of thinking that.

Licia was silent for a moment. "I'd like to lie to you and tell you that he was proud of you," she said, brutally honest. Bianchi controlled her reaction carefully. "But I don't know about that. I think you baffled him, to be honest. He could see your potential, but he _was_ old-fashioned and he just didn't have the time to adjust to the thought of you being... well, you. This." She gestured at Bianchi and the ring on her finger. "Maybe with time... well, who knows?"

Time, yes. Time that they hadn't had. Bianchi rubbed the space between her eyebrows, eyes shut so they couldn't betray her. "_Fucking_ Macrini."

"Rather, yes," Licia said. They both fell silent for a moment, contemplating that, before she cleared her throat. "What sort of celebration party did you have in mind?"

Right, the party. Yes. That was much simpler. Bianchi lowered her hand. "Full-scale. All the Families. Black-tie, dinner, dancing, people working the crowd with trays of fancy little things on frilly toothpicks and lots of champagne." She smiled then, baring her teeth. "Something to show the world what the Falco are made of."

Licia's answering smile was just as fierce as Bianchi's. "I don't believe you need a party to do that, my dear. But let us see what we can come up with nonetheless."


	6. Chapter 6

Notes appear in the first chapter.

**

* * *

**

**Part Six**

Bianchi held out for as long as she could before her nerves drove her to pick up her phone and text Dino. _this sucks._

His reply came so quickly that she suspected that he might have been waiting for her to contact him. _i know._

Bianchi considered that and rolled her eyes. _do you really, mr. i lead from the front?_ It was a rare Cavallone operation that didn't have the Dino at the front of it, right in the thickest parts of the fight.

_i have a good imagination?_ he tried.

_nice try, cavallone, but no._ Though it had made her smile, which counted for something.

_hm. well, if it helps, you should've heard some of the names your brother called you._

Bianchi snorted. _oh, i did. he practiced them on tsuna and then gave me the full performance._ It was a pity she hadn't been able to see it in person, since Hayato had been in fine voice.

_think he'll forgive you?_ Dino asked.

_one of these days, maybe._ He'd get over it, and at least she didn't have to worry about him on top of everything else. Pessimism, or maybe a healthy sense of prudence, made her add, _if we live through this._

_nervous?_

It was Dino. He wouldn't take it the wrong way if she admitted to that. _yeah._ And maybe some other things, too. _never really had to tell other people to go out and do my dirty work for me before._ Not on this scale, anyway. Not after planning it in relatively cold blood. It was different to take a job and execute it herself, though perhaps only in her own mind.

_that part does suck. never gets easier, either._

Bianchi made a face at her phone. _thanks, cavallone, that makes me feel so much better._ She checked the clock again, but the minute hand had barely crept forward. It was going to be _ages_ before she could reasonably expect any of her people to check in.

_sorry. anything i can do to help? want me to come over?_

And he would, too. Bianchi was tempted to say yes, had even begun to type it, before she stopped herself and erased it. _you have the time to talk for a while?_

_for you, i have all the time in the world._

Bianchi laughed at how relentlessly soppy that was, and at herself for being charmed by it. _i just need an hour or two. talk to me?_

_sure. what about?_

The first thing that occurred to her probably didn't seem connected to anything. She asked it anyway. _do you ever miss japan?_ It still surprised her that she did, when she'd never quite managed to be at ease in Namimori.

_sometimes. you?_

_sort of. thought i hated it at first, but i guess it grew on me._ It had been so different from home, so full of people whose language wasn't hers, with so few friendly, familiar faces. It hadn't been at all difficult to pretend to be angry with Tsuna at first, which had been in keeping with her cover story, since anger was a good way of sublimating one's nerves. But then she'd made friends with the girls, Tsuna had found his spine, and it'd all become bearable, bit by bit.

_yeah. must've been weird to be embedded like that. least i got to make trips back and forth._

_and don't think i wasn't jealous of that._ At least until she'd settled in and the world had started taking notice of Tsuna. Once that had happened, she'd gotten too busy to think about things like that.

_should've said something. we could have arranged a vacation._

Bianchi snorted. _while i was on a job? be serious._ Timoteo would've loved hearing that the reason she'd skipped out on guarding his heir was a little _homesickness_. And what Reborn would've done didn't bear thinking about.

_you never know. maybe we could have hooked up earlier._

That made her wince. _job. wouldn't have been a good idea._ Bad enough that they'd flirted and gotten so friendly with each other over the course of those years, especially after that glimpse of the future-that-wasn't. Considering how she'd lost her damn mind the minute they'd tumbled into bed together, it was best that they'd waited.

_too bad. wasted a lot of time._

Bianchi sucked in a breath; she'd been trying not to think that. _yeah, i know. god, this is depressing. new topic, please._

He took a moment to think about that. _okay, so what are you going to do once we put the macrini down?_

_throw a party._ Bianchi eyed the stack of invitations she was supposed to be working on with disfavor. _to show off just how awesome the falco really are. invitations go out tomorrow._ Presuming everything went smoothly this evening, please God.

The clock was still creeping along. Damn.

_whoa, cool. am i invited?_

Bianchi smiled. _of course you are. i'm relying on you to give pasquale orsini lots of nasty looks for me._

_what, hasn't he taken a clue yet?_

Didn't she just wish he had. _nope._ Maybe if she underlined the clue with a brick to the head. Even the most feckless suitor couldn't mistake _that_.

_glaring at orsini it is. hey, you have an ornamental pond in the garden or something? we could dunk him in it._

Bianchi let herself imagine that and laughed. _might be a little much for a party._ Flavio Orsini would probably object to it, too, and feel obligated to declare some kind of war on her to salve his Family's pride.

_oh well, thought i'd offer._

_for someone who isn't actually a hitman, you're really quick to resort to violent solutions._

_trained by reborn?_ he tried.

_good point._ Reborn tended to assume that most problems could be solved with the application of enough bullets. Which raised the specter she'd been trying to avoid. Bianchi chewed on her lip. Fuck it. Might as well ask and get it off her chest. _be honest with me: offing all of the macrini—good idea or bad one?_

His reply made her grimace. _oh christ. can't you just ask me whether that dress makes your butt look big?_

Damn it. That's what she'd been afraid of. Bianchi pinched the bridge of her nose. _bad idea, then._

His reply took him a while to compose. _it's too early to say. maybe it is, maybe it isn't. you'll find out once it's all over. and even if it's a good decision, you'll still have nights when you lie awake and wonder whether there was something else you could have done that would have been better. sometimes being the boss sucks._

She sighed. _was starting to pick up on that, yeah._ Moments like this made her wonder why she hadn't just taken Hayato's advice and run while she had the chance.

_for what it's worth, i think you're doing the best you can._

Well, at least she had that. He probably even meant it, too. _thanks, dino._

_you're welcome. and also, that dress doesn't make your butt look big. your ass is divine._

Bianchi laughed until she was breathless. _you're ridiculous._

_that's why you love me._

She snorted in order to keep herself from melting. Sentimental idiot. _keep telling yourself that._

_it's not? Must be my film-star good looks._

Well, good to know that he knew perfectly well how attractive he was, not that there could be any doubts about that. _let me know when this fishing expedition of yours catches something,_ she replied, amused.

_my manly prowess in bed?_

That one just made her giggle. _keep reaching, cavallone._

_huh, i'm starting to run out of attributes. maybe you don't love me after all._

Bianchi rolled her eyes at the plaintive message. _now you really are being ridiculous._

His retort caught her like a blow to the chest. _you really don't like owning up to that, do you?_

Bianchi found herself sucking in a breath at the accuracy of his observation. _it's not easy to say, given the circumstances._

_this from the woman i've heard given ringing speeches about the importance of love?_

_i do know how important it is. that's why i don't say it lightly._ Too many people did. That was half the problem with the world right there.

_i see._

Oh, for fuck's sake. Bianchi dialed his number and waited for him to pick up. When he did, she said, all in a rush, "I do love you, you idiot. It just doesn't do us a damn bit of good."

"That doesn't mean it isn't nice to hear." He sounded startled by the edge in her voice.

"Idiot," she sighed. It wasn't entirely addressed to him. "Anyway. There you go." It wasn't like she hadn't admitted it a dozen or so times over, even if she hadn't explicitly said it till now. At least she had that much.

"Thank you." He cleared his throat. "So how are you holding up?"

Bianchi leaned back in her chair, stretching out her legs under her desk. "I'm starting to wonder whether it's poor form to have a drink while I wait," she confessed.

"Only if you get drunk." She could hear the smile in his voice. "One glass of wine won't hurt. Might even help settle your nerves."

"Maybe I'll do that." Bianchi slouched lower in her chair and made a face. "I hate waiting." It wasn't so much that she didn't know what was going on—it was that she could imagine, all too clearly, what might be happening and all the ways things could be going wrong.

"So do I." Dino's voice was rich with sympathy. "How much longer before you expect to hear from people?"

Bianchi checked the clock again. The minute hand hadn't moved appreciably closer to the hour. Damn it. "Least another hour or two. I thought I'd do some work to pass the time, but it's not going so well."

"You need something else to think about. Take your mind off of things." Dino's tone turned thoughtful. "So, what are you wearing right now?"

What was she—"Cavallone, I am in my _office_."

"Sitting at the desk, I assume?" His voice dropped lower, turning silky. "With your hair up, looking all serious?"

"Dino Cavallone, we are not having phone sex." She injected as much firmness into her voice as she could manage, even when the timbre of his voice wanted to go straight to her hindbrain. "My door isn't even locked! Gervasio could walk in at any minute!"

"Mm, that could be a little kinky, but—"

"Dino!"

He cracked up at the scandalized note in her voice, snickering into the receiver. "No?"

"Absolutely not," she said, rolling her eyes. "Honestly."

He was still laughing. "What I would give to see your face. I didn't actually think anything could shock you."

Bianchi snorted. "You do realize that this was my _father's_ desk, don't you?"

His end of the line went abruptly silent. "Oh, God," he said after a moment, voice feeble. "I think you've just eradicated my libido."

She grinned. "You deserved it."

"No, seriously. I'm never going to be able to get it up again." His tone was all tragedy. "You've destroyed the Cavallone, woman. I'll be the last of my line."

"Don't you think you're being a little dramatic?" she murmured. "There are pharmaceutical remedies for that condition, or so I'm given to understand."

"You wound me, madam. A Cavallone will suffer death before dishonor."

"So you'd let the family die out just because you're too proud to admit that you have an erectile dysfunction?" she asked, entertained, just as Gervasio let himself into her office.

He stopped short, face shifting through several different expressions rapidly. He mouthed, _Should I come back later?_ as Dino said something about the importance of having priorities.

Bianchi waved a hand at him. "I need to go. Gervasio just came in."

All the laughter dropped out of Dino's voice. "That's early. Keep me posted?"

"I will. Later." Bianchi set her phone down and raised her eyebrows at Gervasio. "Well?"

He looked like he didn't know whether to be horrified or fascinated. "I bet you wouldn't tell me what on earth you were talking about even if I asked really nicely, would you?"

"It'd be a long story. And you really would have had to be there." Bianchi waved that aside. "Has something happened?"

Gervasio came away from the door and sprawled in his chair. "One of our people had a stroke of luck and ran across their targets early. Emanuele Gaspari had a migraine and went to bed early." He smiled, thin and sharp. "He won't be having any more migraines ever again."

Emanuele Gaspari, one of Ivo Macrini's most senior advisors and underbosses. That would be a blow to the Macrini even if nothing else happened the way it had been planned. "Couldn't have happened to a better person."

Gervasio's smile showed his teeth. "Thought so myself." He gestured at her phone. "Cavallone keeping you company while you wait?"

"Couldn't concentrate on these." Bianchi tapped the box of invitations. "Which is a bad sign when you consider the fact that all I have to do is sign them and stuff them into their envelopes."

"Want me to do it for you?"

Bianchi gave him a flat look. "Did you really just offer to forge my signature to my face?"

His grin was breezily unconcerned. "Yes?"

"You're shameless." On the other hand, there were a _lot_ of invitations in that box. Bianchi shook her head. "Go find us a bottle of wine and we'll work on them together while we wait."

Gervasio's grin got wider. "Clever, clever Boss." He bounced to his feet. "Sit tight, I'll be back shortly."

Bianchi used his absence to update Dino. _we got an early check-in; 1 down and 43 to go._ Which seemed like an impossibly high number, even when she told herself that it encompassed the Macrini family itself, all the Family's underbosses and advisors, and the dozen or so up-and-coming young men who seemed to have the steel in their spines that would let them step into the power vacuum that this hit would create.

And God only knew how many bodyguards and sentries would go along with those named targets.

It was still better than an outright war. She had to hold onto that.

_oh, okay, that's a relief._

_yeah, tell me about it._ Not that she was any less tense, or would be until the last of her people checked in. _gervasio's gone for a bottle of wine and we're going to work on these blasted invitations together._

_good plan, good right hand._

_i was lucky, yeah._ Davide had been the one with the good taste, or perhaps Giancarlo and her father had been. She'd just been the beneficiary of that. _anyway, go get some sleep._

_call me if you need me. i mean that._

Bianchi smiled. _you know I will._ She paused and then added, _love you_, before she hit send.

_love you too._

"I know you do," Bianchi said under her breath as she set the phone aside and looked at the invitations.

Well, surely the wine would help with those, too.

* * *

The time didn't pass any faster with the wine or the work, though it was easier to bear with Gervasio sitting across from her, tossing off her signature with a showy flourish of his wrist and keeping up an easy stream of chatter while the minutes crawled by.

She really was lucky to have him, Bianchi decided as she traded her stack for his and began checking the names on the envelope against the list Licia had included. "So here's a question for you," she said, bending over the task. "What are we going to do with your brother once this is all over?"

"What do you mean, what are we going to do with him?" When she glanced at him, Gervasio's eyebrows were knit together. "He'll come back home and go back to being one of the Falco's best underbosses, of course."

"Mm." Bianchi checked an envelope's label against the list, checked it off, and set it aside. "Do you think he'll be happy doing that?"

He didn't answer the question. "Just what are you getting at, Boss?"

Bianchi supposed that she couldn't fault him for sounding so wary. "He's going to be a family man. Wouldn't he be happier in his own establishment?" As much as she'd thought about it, she couldn't really imagine him and Alessia being happy doing anything else.

She watched Gervasio's hands go still and the quick, convulsive way he swallowed. "Boss..."

"I know there are still Linardon people out there. They might be scattered, and there might not be many, but small Families have survived hard times before." Bianchi checked another envelope and added it to the growing stack. "And we're creating an opening in the ecosystem, as it were." She looked up and met Gervasio's eyes. "You told me he ought to be leading his own Family the first day we met."

"I did, didn't I?" Gervasio sat back in his seat and drank off the rest of his wine, eyes staring at something that wasn't in the room. "He might—I could see it. He's always been twitchy about not—not calling himself by his rightful name."

Yes, she'd thought as much. "We'll put it to him, then, once this is over." She checked off another envelope. "And if he'd rather go, then you'll be free to go with him, of course." Not that she wouldn't regret it, but she'd make do. Maybe it'd be the excuse she'd need to retire Stefano from active hits.

That shook Gervasio out of his daze. "Boss!" Indignation suffused his expression. "Did I or did I not kiss your ring?"

Bianchi paused in the act of shuffling an envelope into the box, surprised. "You did, but he's your brother."

Gervasio scowled at her. "But I agreed to be _your_ right hand. God only knows what you'd get up to if you didn't have me around here to keep an eye on you."

Bianchi blinked, looking at him. "You'd really choose me over him?" Surely not. She'd seen them together, she _knew_ how close they were—

"Not over. Instead of." Gervasio shrugged. "You suit me. And rebuilding the Linardon would be a lot of work." His smile was crooked. "And you never know. He might choose to stick around."

"There is that." She didn't really expect it, but then, Gervasio had just proven that people did the unexpected all the time. "Thanks."

He just grinned. "Told you. I was born to be the family black sheep." He sat up again, clearing his throat briskly, and went back to work on checking over his share of the invitations. "Remind me to have a camera handy when you drop this in his lap."

Bianchi chuckled. "I can do that."

They finished the rest of the invitations in silence, working in tandem, and sorted them back into the box they'd come from when they were done. Bianchi kicked off her shoes and poured the last of the wine when they were done. "Finally."

Gervasio raised his glass. "Cheers." She echoed him and drank as she checked the clock. Going on two in the morning. "Shouldn't be too much longer."

"Probably not." He loosened his tie and sprawled out in his chair. "What's on the agenda after we get the Macrini sorted?"

"Business as usual, I suppose." Bianchi twirled the stem of her wineglass in her fingers. "Haven't had the time to think too far ahead."

"Mm." Bianchi looked up at that; it was the sound of a man about to say something he didn't expect to go over very well. "With all due respect—" oh, it was going to be _bad_ "—you'll probably want to think about finding a nice trophy husband before too long." He winced at her expression and held up a hand. "Don't look at me like that, Boss, you know I'm just doing my job."

Bianchi swallowed her anger as best as she could. "I know."

"And, I mean, 'before too long' isn't 'next week.'" He looked at her anxiously. "You can get away with a few months, probably, what with dealing with tonight's fallout and with getting the Falco in order. But you should at least be thinking about it."

"I think about it every time I talk to Dino." Bianchi looked away from Gervasio's sympathy. "Believe me, I know what I have to do."

"Sorry, Boss." He did sound like he meant it.

"Yeah, forget about it. I know you're doing your job." Bianchi looked into her wine. As if it had any answers, she thought. "You ever been in love?"

"Once or twice." He shrugged when she glanced at him. "But then I realized it would be selfish of me if I limited my charms to one lucky boy, and branched out."

The hour and the wine meant it took her a moment to puzzle out his meaning. "So you're saying that you're kind of a slut."

"I would _never_ dream of kissing and telling, Ms. Scorpion ma'am." Gervasio's eyes twinkled over the rim of his glass. "But I suppose I get around."

Before she could formulate a response to that, his phone went off.

Bianchi set her glass aside and gripped the arm of her chair instead as Gervasio answered. "Conti." He listened for a moment and then gave Bianchi a thumb's up. "Good. Good. All right, get yourself home and sleep in. We'll debrief in the afternoon." He listened a moment longer and then closed his phone, grinning. "Ivo Macrini's down a brother and a set of nephews."

Bianchi breathed out. "Any problems?"

He shook his head, _no_. "In and out and no one the wiser. The Varia couldn't have done it any better."

Bianchi exhaled and found a smile. "I wouldn't say that around any of the Varia, if I were you. They might take exception." Touchy bastards. She reached for her wine again. "Well, that's a few less to worry about."

"Yep." Gervasio looked at the clock. "You know, you could go to bed—"

"Wouldn't be able to sleep if I did. Not until everyone checks in." Or, God forbid, didn't. Bianchi shook her head. "I'll wait all night if I have to."

Gervasio's smile was wry. "We're both going to be worthless tomorrow."

"Yeah, probably." Bianchi shrugged. "We'll survive."

"Even if we don't want to." Gervasio reached into a pocket. "So. Cards?"

They passed the time playing penny-ante poker, stopping in the middle of hands whenever Gervasio's phone went off to take the reports from the men and women who'd been sent to sow havoc among the Macrini. Bianchi drew up a chart around three, when the lack of sleep and the wine were making it difficult to keep track of things, to mark off the rising body count. By four, the Macrini's hierarchy of underbosses had nearly been eliminated and most of Ivo Macrini's extended family was dead.

Reborn called her himself around four-thirty, when Bianchi was deep in debt to Gervasio's poker skills, and told her that Sebastiano Aquili, Ivo Macrini's right hand, was dead, as was Macrini's heir Luca. "And brew yourself some coffee," he added. "You sound like you're half-asleep."

"Thanks, Reborn," Bianchi told him, biting down the yawn. "Have a good night."

Gervasio watched her mark names off silently after she'd set her phone down again. "Not many left now."

Bianchi looked at the handful of names that were still unaccounted for. "Nope." The chief names now were Ivo Macrini himself, which was the job Stefano and Alessia had claimed for themselves, and a handful of underbosses and potential underbosses. "Why don't you go see whether anyone's awake in the kitchen and steal us some coffee?" As always, Reborn had excellent ideas.

"Sure thing." Gervasio pushed himself out of his chair and stretched, grimacing. He started to roll his sleeves back down and then stopped, shaking his head. "Caffeine to see the night through, coming right up."

Bianchi studied the chart she'd cobbled together, counting up the dead. The Macrini might never recover from this, even if Uncle Stefano and Alessia didn't manage to kill Ivo Macrini. Hell, even if that happened, one of the other Families might go ahead and finish the job for her.

They'd have to be extra careful with their own security for a while, just in case one of the other Families decided imitation really was the sincerest form of flattery...

When the door opened, it came so close on the heels of that thought that Bianchi was on her feet with a handful of poison cooking before her tired brain registered that it was Uncle Stefano who'd just let himself in. "Easy there, kiddo." He limped in as she dumped the poison cooking into the trashcan. "Gotta be careful with that hair trigger."

Bianchi ran her hands through her hair and dropped herself into her chair again. "Nerves. Been a long night." She watched him ease himself into a chair. "Are you hurt?"

Stefano's smile was tired. "No. Just getting old." He shook his head. "Can't recommend it, really. Don't do it if you can help it."

"I'll keep that in mind." Bianchi held onto her patience with both hands. He'd tell her how it had gone in his own good time.

Stefano looked around. "Where's that rascal of a right hand?" He leaned over and peeked at the hand of cards that Gervasio had laid down and made a face. "Better fold."

"Getting coffee so we don't fall asleep waiting for the last few check-ins." A gentle nudge never hurt, of course.

Stefano's eyes brightened; he rubbed his hands together. "Ah, coffee. That sounds wonderful."

He was playing with her now, Bianchi decided. And he wouldn't do that if things had gone badly. "Well, maybe he'll bring enough back to go around."

Stefano's eyes glinted. "Hope so. Hold out your hand and close your eyes, baby girl. I brought you a present." Bianchi raised her eyebrows at him, but complied. He deposited something warm and heavy in her palm. "Okay, you can look."

It was a ring, a heavy, ornate affair in gold and set with a flat emerald that had the Macrini seal cut into it. Bianchi looked at it for a long time before closing her fist around it. "Just what I've always wanted," she said softly.

Stefano grinned at her, crooked. "Saw it while I was out and about tonight and thought you might like it."

Bianchi drew her list over and crossed the last pair of Macrini names out with a thick stroke. She passed the list over the desk to him when she'd done it. He looked at it for several seconds before smiling. "Well, well, well. Isn't this a fine thing?"

"What's a fine thing?" Gervasio asked, coming in with a pot of coffee and two mugs.

"This is." Stefano waited for him to empty his hands and passed the list up.

Gervasio looked at it, face gone still, before he took the pen he'd tucked behind his ear and marked a couple more names off the list. "Richiutti called while I was downstairs," he explained.

Bianchi poured a cup of coffee and passed it to Stefano. "Just waiting on Marogani and Frentani now." And the fucking Macrini were dead. All of them, even old man Francesco's bastard son. She poured more coffee for Gervasio and splashed some into her wineglass for herself, and toasted them. "Hope my father is seeing this, wherever he is."

They drank. "I'm sure he is," Stefano said. He glanced at Gervasio. "Your family, too."

Gervasio's smile was tired but triumphant. "Yeah. Speaking of my family, I thought my terrifying sister-in-law went with you."

"She went home. Said she'd come by later." Stefano shook his head. "Your brother is lucky. And terribly brave."

"Isn't he?" Gervasio snorted. "He looks puzzled every time I tell him so."

"Better him than me." Stefano took a drink of his coffee. "Marogani and Frentani, huh? Well, deal me in on the next hand."

Frentani finally called at six, when the birds outside the window were singing and dawn was well under way. Marogani followed her a few minutes later. Between them, they let Bianchi mark off the last few names on the list, and she dropped her pen, satisfied, when she'd done it. "There. That's that."

Gervasio drained the last of his coffee. "And high time, too."

"Amen to that." Stefano dropped his cards. "All right, kids. I'm for bed."

"God, yes." Bianchi pushed herself back from the desk and fished her shoes out from beneath it. "Time for a nap before we face the music."

"Cheer up, Ms. Scorpion ma'am." Gervasio grinned. "Maybe this'll scare off some of those boys you keep complaining about."

Bianchi thought about it wistfully. "I can hope, can't I?" Well, given her luck, it probably wouldn't. She covered a yawn with her hand and gave them a nod. "Sleep well, gentlemen."

She barely remembered to set her alarm for later that morning before crawling under the blankets. Despite the coffee, she was asleep before her head hit the pillow.

* * *

Bianchi finished one game of solitaire and was well into another before it began to sound like Giovanni Barassi was winding down. "Pardon me," she murmured when he paused for breath. "I'm afraid I'm not exactly sure what it is you're asking me to say. It _sounds_ like you're accusing the Falco of having something to do with the tragedy that's befallen the Macrini. The former Macrini, I should say. But surely _that_ isn't right." Ah. The eight of spades could go on the nine of hearts, and that freed up the ace of clubs. Excellent.

Barassi sputtered. "Now see here, Missy—"

"Excuse me?" Bianchi slammed as much ice as she could into that. "_What_ did you just call me?"

"You heard me. I don't care who—"

Right, so he clearly couldn't take a broad hint. Time to get explicit. "My name is _not_ 'Missy'," Bianchi told him. "Nor is it 'sweetie', 'girly', or 'honey'. I will thank you to remember that, sir."

Barassi failed to take _that_ hint and blustered on. "You can call yourself whatever you like, but it doesn't matter. We all know the Falco and the Macrini have been at war for years, and—"

Oh, for fuck's sake. This was starting to be boring.

She interrupted him again. "And so what? Think about it for a moment, why don't you? Are you really suggesting that I—and what is left of my poor Family—really had the wherewithal to eliminate the entire Macrini Family?" Bianchi paused, counted off three heartbeats, and added, "You don't really believe that, because if you did, you'd be asking yourself, 'Hey, Giovanni? Do I really feel like pissing Bianchi Falco off today?'"

Red six to black seven turned up the queen of diamonds; she made another draw from the deck before Barassi said, his tone quite different from before, "I suppose you make a good point, Ms. Falco. Still, I would watch my step, if I were you."

That was much, much better, so she sweetened her tone. "A girl like me, all alone with you experienced bosses? I wouldn't dream of doing otherwise." Ah, there was her ace of hearts. "Will we be seeing you at the little party we're having?"

"We'll be there." It sounded like he was gritting his teeth.

"Splendid! I'll look forward to seeing you there. Thanks so much for calling, it was so nice to have this little chat with you. Bye now." She let him mutter something in return and disconnected.

Gervasio applauded from the doorway. "How can you be so good at bluffing like that and be so shitty at poker?"

Bianchi shrugged and stretched her neck as he came away from the door. "Never liked poker, that's why. I prefer blackjack."

"Huh. Well, whatever." Gervasio handed her a folder. "Renzo has another batch of news reports, in case you feel like gloating some more. I think he's going to make a scrapbook or something."

"We all need hobbies." Bianchi set the folder aside and closed her laptop. "How's the cleanup going?"

"It's going." Gervasio dropped himself into his chair. He still had dark circles under his eyes from their vigil, even four days after the fact. She suspected that she was going to have to order him to take an early night and then enforce it, just to get him to rest. "Guiseppe would like me to let you know that if you'd be so good as to stay close to home for a few more days, he'll be able to sleep better at night and his ulcer won't act up."

"I suppose that's reasonable." Eminently reasonable, since he and a few of his men had already rooted out one attempt that a remnant of the Macrini had made to infiltrate the house. Bianchi had no problem letting Guiseppe get on with the business of keeping her safe, considering that, and really, she had more than enough work to keep her busy at home.

"He'll appreciate that."

There was something about the way Gervasio was not quite meeting her eyes that rang warning bells in the back of Bianchi's brain. "Not more than I appreciate the work he's doing." She rested her chin on her fist and looked at Gervasio. "Okay, whatever it is, spit it out."

Gervasio winced and took a breath. "Okay, so you know how you were eyeing the Macrini's work in the east?" He laced his hands together, twiddling his thumbs. "Well, um. The Modigliani went straight to the Russians and cut us off at the knees."

"Bastards!" Those sneaking, conniving _bastards_, the Falco had already started staking their claims! "Is there any way of—" but he was already shaking his head.

"They have some kind of family connection. Modigliani is capitalizing on it." Gervasio grimaced. "I think he's got the whole thing sewn up."

"That _bastard_," Bianchi said again, feelingly. She'd had _plans_ for the Russians.

"Things are going well with the Macrini's smuggling operations." Gervasio offered it like a placation, which Bianchi supposed it was. "And I'm not sure, but it sure looks like the Vongola are planning on shutting down those drug operations they seized."

Sounded like the kind of thing Tsuna would try. Bianchi gave quiet thanks that the Falco had never invested much in drugs and would be able to steer clear of that particular clusterfuck in the making. "Well, it'll be interesting to see how that works out for him."

Gervasio snickered. "You're the very soul of diplomacy, Boss."

"It's a gift." And he hadn't come to the other little matter she'd asked him to look into. "How's the hunt for Linardon people going?"

Gervasio sighed. "Slowly so far. He and I were young, you know, and we weren't exactly in the line of succession. We hadn't really gotten a chance to build up a lot of ties to the Family. And it's been years. People started new lives, or found other Families, or died..."

"It doesn't take numbers to make a Family strong. It just takes a heart and a will." Gervasio was giving her a patient look, so she shrugged and left off the pontificating. "Anyway, keep looking."

"Sure, Boss." Gervasio hesitated before adding, "Are you going to bring him home soon?"

Bianchi was reluctant to dismiss the hopeful note in his voice, but prudence suggested that she ought to. "Let's give it a few more days to settle down and for Guiseppe to give us an all-clear. Then we'll bring him back and he can shock the hell out of everyone."

He concealed the moment of disappointment well, and managed a smile that went along with the wicked glint in his eyes. "You're kind of evil, you know that?"

"Like you're one to talk." Bianchi flapped a hand at him. "Okay, go on, get back to work."

He ducked his head and went, and Bianchi rearranged herself in her seat. The worst part of a hit was the part that came after it was all over, she thought, when a person was at loose ends and the fallout was still settling, and the world was still figuring out what kind of new shape it had taken. And it didn't matter whether the hit was for one person or a whole Family; the feeling was the same.

Her phone rang, interrupted her musing. It was Tadzio Valetti, wanting to know what the hell the Falco thought it was doing. Bianchi kept her sigh purely internal, opened up her laptop, and resumed her solitaire game.

* * *

_everyone keeps coming up with new and inventive ways of asking me whether i've lost my mind,_ she told Dino later that evening. _it's amazing how politely some of them are managing to word it._ And how quickly the impolite ones changed their tones once she'd pointed out certain realities.

_well, it isn't often that anyone wipes out another family. what're you telling them?_

_i'm playing dumb. who, little old me? our family couldn't possibly have done something like that!_ The best part was hearing the doubt creeping into people's voices. She'd just about lay money on Benito Magri's having actually bought it. _besides, the macrini tried it first, with the linardon._

_and people were sort of appalled then, too. wait, tried?_

Whoops. Well, that cat was due to come out of the bag sooner or later. Probably sooner. _it's not my fault ivo macrini wasn't as good at this as i am._

_okay, so who'd he miss?_

Bianchi grinned. _the twins._

As she'd expected, it didn't take him long to put the pieces together. _...okay, now i know you're shitting me._

_would i do that to you?_

That earned her a keysmash of a reply. Bianchi leaned back against her pillows and laughed.

When Dino had finally regained his equilibrium, he wrote, _no, seriously, your right hand is the last of the linardon?_

Bianchi pursed her lips, but... no reason not to, now, and she might as well gloat to someone who'd appreciate the joke properly. _not the last. said the macrini missed the twins, didn't i?_

_i was at the damn funeral, you know._

Really, he should have known better. If there wasn't a body, then one couldn't make assumptions. _yes, you were. at the closed casket funeral._ Hell, sometimes one couldn't make assumptions even with a body, unless there were dental records to go with it.

_...okay, you win._

Bianchi grinned and savored that, before typing, _but i haven't even told you the best part yet._

_which is...?_ he prompted her.

_his woman took advantage of the fact that he couldn't get away and married him._ It still made her grin, even now. Bless Alessia Eramo's jealous, paranoid heart.

_who is this lady, and where should i send the flowers i'm going to order for her?_

_dunno if you wanna do that, her husband might get the wrong idea._ Alessia herself might get the wrong idea, too, come to think of it.

_i could send him flowers, too?_

Bianchi laughed and resisted the urge to tell him he had the wrong brother for that. _just send them to me, i'll appreciate them for you._

_done. that seriously is the best thing i've heard all day. been a long one._

She just bet it had been long, considering the swathe of territory he'd just snapped up. _oh? wanna talk about it?_

It took a little prompting, but he did; the Cizeta were being a thorn in his side and the Macrini's territory was in complete chaos and some of his own people were arguing with each other about the best way to deal with it all. _such a glamorous life, huh?_

That didn't even begin to cover all the daily headaches of being a boss. _can't spend every day rampaging against our enemies and then pissing on the ashes._ Bianchi yawned. _okay, gotta crash._

_yeah, me too. love you._

_love you too. night._ It was getting easier to type that, which Bianchi suspected wasn't a good sign.

She put it from her mind and fell asleep making plans for the remains of the Macrini.

* * *

"Are we still waiting for someone, Boss?" Cosimo asked when it was five minutes past the hour and Bianchi hadn't made any move to get the weekly meeting started.

Bianchi bit the inside of her cheek to keep her face straight. "We are. I expect he's running just a little late." Cosimo frowned, clearly disapproving of the tardiness. Bianchi just smiled at him blandly, because she could see past his frown to the door at the other end of the room which was just opening. "Ah, here he is now."

Stefano had told her that it had been a close call. Watching Davide limp in, leaning on a cane and still carrying an arm in a sling, even after several weeks and a couple sessions with a Sun attribute, hammered the point home.

The reaction from her people was everything she hoped it would be, which banished gloomy thoughts. Davide made his way to the seat Gervasio had kept open amid the noise of surprised oaths and the babble of questions. "Sorry for being late, Boss," he said after settling in his chair, every movement ginger.

"Don't mention it," she said, leaning over to clasp his good hand. "It's good to see you back with us."

"I'm glad to be back." He smiled and glanced around the table. "I see you chose to keep this to yourself."

"Of course I did. I wouldn't have _dreamed_ of ruining an entrance like that." Style counted for a great deal, after all.

When she thought her people had had enough time to get the excitement out of their systems, Bianchi rapped her knuckles on the table and raised her voice. "All right, gentlemen, simmer down. As you can see, rumors of Mr. Conti's demise have been somewhat exaggerated. We thought it might be best to let him have a little time to recover from his injuries without having to worry that the Macrini, rot their souls, might try to finish what they started, and for him to enjoy his honeymoon. How _is_ Alessia, by the way?"

Davide's smile lit his eyes. "Very well, thank you."

"I'm glad to hear it." Bianchi smiled around the table, enjoying the collection of stunned expressions on her underbosses faces. "Now that we're all here, let's get started."

It was a good day, she decided, letting Gervasio open things up as he grinned at his brother.

* * *

Bianchi watched Davide ease himself into the chair across from her desk and the way pain made his mouth tight. "Your injuries still giving you a lot of trouble?"

"It's better than it was," he said, voice short, sighing as he finally got himself settled. He leaned his cane within easy reach and glanced at her. "You wanted to discuss something, Boss?"

It rolled off his tongue easily, she noticed. And he'd clearly managed to come to some kind of peace over her father's death while he'd been convalescing. Those were good signs. "I did," she said. "I have something to offer you, if you want it." She slid the small jeweler's box across the desk.

Gervasio leaned forward for it and handed it to his brother instead of making him reach for it. Davide looked at it and raised his eyebrows. "I already have all the jewelry I really want," he said, wiggling the fingers of his left hand at her.

He was definitely still in the honeymoon stage, that was for sure. "Open it up and tell me if you still think that," Bianchi told him.

Davide glanced at her and then his brother, shrugged his good shoulder, and flipped the box open. Then he went still, staring at it.

It had taken a ludicrous amount of money, a lot of hoping, an enormous helping of luck, and the services of the best cat burglar willing to brave the chaos of the former Macrini territories to lay hands on the contents of that little box. Every bit of it was worth it for the way Davide looked at the Linardon ring with wide-eyed wonder. "Boss," he said, voice barely more than a whisper.

"You haven't actually kissed my ring yet," Bianchi told him. "If you still want to, I'd be glad to have you, because you're a good man and have served my Family well. But if you would rather take that ring instead, I'll understand that, too."

Davide looked at his brother. Bianchi wasn't privy to the silent conversation that ensued, but Gervasio shook his head. His voice was gentle when he said, "I'm happy where I am."

Davide's mouth tightened with a brief flash of a different kind of pain before he nodded. He returned his eyes to Bianchi. "I don't even have any people to call a Family."

"You have Alessia," Bianchi told him. "And we've found some of the Linardon people who still remember their loyalties. If you declare yourself, I expect more will come forward. And Families—especially the ones led by good men and women—have a curious way of growing." She let him digest that before going on. "I was thinking... The Falco have some new territories that need administering. I can't offer you much, but I think one of them might make a nice place to resurrect the Linardon." Bianchi smiled at him. "You might consider it a belated wedding present."

"That's a _hell_ of a wedding present," he said, voice faint.

Gervasio grinned and poked his brother's shoulder carefully. "That's because she's relieved that it wasn't _her_ wedding."

"There might be an element of relief involved, yes," Bianchi conceded. And it was one of the new territories; it wasn't like she was conceding anything that had really belonged to the Falco. She folded her hands under her chin and looked at Davide. "So. Which ring do you prefer?"

"I..." Davide looked back down at the Linardon ring. "I need to talk to Alessia."

Naturally, though Bianchi thought she knew what Alessia would say. "Of course. It was silly of me not to ask her to join us, I suppose." She leaned back and dusted her hands. "If you could, let me know before the party. If we're going to restore your Family, we should do it quickly." Doing it at a party that would have most of the Families in attendance would be the efficient way of accomplishing that. It would give them something besides the Macrini and the Falco to discuss, to boot.

Davide gave the ring one last look before closing the box. "I... yes, of course." He looked up again. "Wait. The party?"

She smiled. "Yes, the party. The one where we'll all stand around talking about the late, unlamented Macrini. Or, perhaps, the new Linardon boss."

"It's next week," Gervasio added, helpfully.

Davide frowned, brow creasing. "Suppose you fill me in on the things I've missed," he said. "Seems the business meeting wasn't as thorough as I'd thought it was."

Well, probably not. But that left the question of where to begin describing the past few weeks. "Oh, God," Bianchi said, casting a glance at Gervasio.

Her right hand scratched his chin. "Well, let's start with what happened when we got the news," he said, and launched into it.

* * *

"Well?" Bianchi asked when Davide had shuffled out, fully briefed and every line of him weary and taut with pain. "Will he take it?"

"Yep." Gervasio caught her skeptical look. "He kept the box, you know. It didn't even occur to him to give it back to you. He wants it." He scratched his chin. "And Alessia will like the idea." His grin turned sly. "Gets him out of range of you."

Good to know that he thought the same way she did. "It's not my fault the Macrini tried to kill him." It really wasn't; the Macrini had been the fucking Macrini.

"Oh, Boss." Gervasio's smile was full of pity. "That's not what she's worried about."

Bianchi made a face at him. "Ridiculous." Surely the woman didn't think she was honestly a threat, even now.

"If you say so." Gervasio's smile said he thought otherwise.

And that was enough in that vein. "So you think he'll go." Bianchi bit her lip, looking at him. No, she really had to ask. It had been one thing when Davide had been absent; now that he was back, Gervasio might have changed his mind. "Are you sure you don't want to go with him?"

"And leave you now that things are just getting really interesting? Don't be ridiculous, Boss." Gervasio smiled. "This is my Family now."

Bianchi let out a breath she hadn't quite realized she was holding. "You don't need to repeat this to your brother, but... I'm glad."

Gervasio simply smiled at her. "Secret's safe with me, Ms. Scorpion ma'am."

* * *

Bianchi failed to be surprised when Alessia came to her herself, striding into her office and planting herself in front of Bianchi's desk. "Just what do you think you're doing?"

She didn't quite have her hands planted on her hips, but then, the gesture was implicit in the tone.

Alessia's stern expression prodded her into it. "Paperwork," Bianchi said, capping her pen and setting it aside. "What can I do for you this afternoon?"

It earned her a look of complete exasperation and was entirely worth it. "You know damn well what I'm here about." Alessia folded her arms and stared down at Bianchi. "What the hell did you give him that ring for?"

Bianchi pushed her chair back from the desk and looked up at Alessia. There wasn't any point in prevaricating, not least because Eramo looked capable of coming across the desk and trying to wring the truth out of her. "Because it belongs to him, and because neither you nor he will be completely happy if he stays with the Falco." She shrugged. "And also because I'd be more comfortable with him set up with his own Family and not giving mine any bright ideas."

Alessia pursed her lips and sat down. "You realize he's tying himself up in knots over this." That was still chilly, but less confrontational. Well, progress was progress.

"I'm not surprised that he is." After all, Gervasio was staying put, and Davide's spine seemed to be made of nothing but honor. Bianchi laced her fingers together and returned Alessia's gaze steadily. "He doesn't need to. He served my father well, and the Falco have been grateful for that, but he doesn't owe us anything beyond what he's already given us. And he won't owe us anything if he decides to take his ring." Alessia's expression eased a bit more. "Of course, I'd be delighted to count the Linardon as one of the Falco's allies."

"Of course you would." Her voice was heavy with irony. "I was wondering what was in it for you."

"It's a fairly small something, for the time being." Davide was capable, and that would change, given time. "And it will ease my conscience a bit to know that he would not be serving the Falco—serving _me_—against your wishes."

"Hmph." Alessia settled back in her seat. "I still don't like you, you know." Bianchi waited for the rest of it; it wasn't long in coming. "But I appreciate this."

Bianchi breathed a bit easier. "I'm glad to hear it." She really hadn't expected this much resistance from Eramo, though perhaps that had been a mistake. "I assume this means you're in favor of the plan?"

"I am." The corner of Alessia's mouth kicked up. "As you said. He's given enough to the Falco already."

"It's a pity to lose him, but we all have to make sacrifices from time to time." But then, Alessia would be familiar with that. "In any case, get his head untangled for him, and then we can talk about where you'd like to re-establish the Linardon. Sound good?"

Alessia nodded once and stood. "It sounds excellent," she said. "We'll be in touch."

Bianchi rose as well. "I'll look forward to it." She hesitated, but went ahead and offered Eramo her hand.

To her surprise, Eramo took it and shook it. "Later," she said, and saw herself out.

At least that was settled to everyone's satisfaction. Bianchi shook her head and returned to her paperwork.

* * *

"Kyouko. Haru." Bianchi knew that she was beaming at both of them as she clasped their hands. She didn't care, not when she was so pleased to see them, and let the other Families see and wonder if they liked. "I'm so glad you could make it."

"We wouldn't have missed it, Bianchi-nee." Haru's smile was wide, practically a grin compared to Kyouko's more demure expression, but Bianchi thought they were probably just as happy to see her. "We would have come straight from the plane if we'd had to."

"Fortunately, we didn't quite have to do that," Kyouko murmured. It was their first public foray among the mafia, or nearly the first, but she didn't give any sign of it as she looked around her, perfectly composed. "I was sorry we couldn't be here for your father's funeral."

"I wouldn't have expected you to be." Bianchi smiled at her. "This is a much better occasion, I promise you."

The faint crinkle of Kyouko's eyes as they exchanged a few more pleasantries said that she'd taken the point. Then Tsuna and Hayato escorted them along into the ballroom and the crowds of people there.

"They look like _babies_," Gervasio said out of the corner of his mouth, the horrified sound of his voice belying the smoothness of his expression.

"They aren't," Bianchi assured him, before turning to smile at old Cesare Maggiora and his long-suffering son, welcoming them to the party. When he had shuffled along, she added, "Reborn was more concerned with the boys than the girls, so I had to teach them everything I knew myself." And she had no doubt that Kyouko and Haru were already finding their feet and making connections as Tsuna and Hayato guided them through the crowd of other Families.

"Ah. That's not so bad, then." Gervasio still sounded uncertain, but not quite so appalled.

"I hope not." Then it was time to give Giovanni Barassi a smile and a greeting, bland in the face of the questions lurking in his eyes—had the Falco or hadn't they?—and the Valetti after him, welcoming them in and sending them along to circulate with the other bosses and graze on hors d'oeuvres and champagne. Every once in a while, Bianchi caught a glimpse of Licia flitting through with the staff, looking as though she was enjoying herself immensely.

Better Licia than her, Bianchi thought, and greeted the next of her guests with a smile.

Dino showed up with the last trickle of guests and hung back till he was the last of them. Bianchi raised her eyebrows at him when he finally strolled over to her. "I was starting to think you weren't coming."

"Sorry about that." He took her hand, offering her an apologetic smile. "I was late getting into the office this morning and that threw my whole day off schedule." He hadn't let go of her hand yet and was gazing at her, looking a little awestruck and not trying to hide it. "My God, you're gorgeous."

That made the hours of fittings and fussing over her dress and hair completely worth it, Bianchi decided. She smoothed a hand down the skirt. "Clean up nice, don't I?"

"Very nice," he agreed, and—yes, it was the plunging neckline and the décolletage that had his attention. Predictable, endearing man.

Gervasio cleared his throat pointedly, but when Bianchi looked, she could see that there wasn't anyone trailing in after Dino. "Well," she said, setting a hand on Dino's arm, "why don't you go ahead and escort me into the party?"

"Oh, yes, because _that's_ subtle," Gervasio muttered, exchanging helpless looks with Romario. Dino ignored him and tucked Bianchi's hand into the crook of his elbow, sweeping her into the crowd.

"You realize that people are going to talk, right?" he asked her as they took a turn around the room.

"They're already talking. This just gives them something else to talk about." Speaking of which... Bianchi looked around, saw Davide, and changed the pressure of her hand on Dino's arm. "That way. There's someone you need to meet."

"Who? Wait, I already know—" he began as they changed directions. He stopped as they came into earshot and Davide turned to them.

"Dino, this is Davide Linardon and his wife, Alessia," Bianchi told him, careful not to snicker at the choked sound he made. "Davide, Alessia, Dino Cavallone."

Dino was quick to recover, she had to hand it to him. "This is an unexpected pleasure." He shook Davide's hand and bowed over Alessia's.

Davide was managing to be the picture of composure, despite the fit of nerves Gervasio insisted he'd had before arriving. "I couldn't have put it better myself."

Alessia, meanwhile, glanced from Dino to Bianchi and flicked an eyebrow up, once. Bianchi lifted a shoulder in reply, watching her smile—well, Alessia could think what she liked, especially if it soothed her nerves about Davide.

Then Bianchi spotted Pasquale Orsini making a beeline in their direction and had to suppress a grimace as he called her name. "Miss Bianchi!"

"Pasquale," she said, politely but not warmly. Her tone slid right over his head, the clueless little twerp. He took her hand; oh, surely he wasn't going to—

He was. "You look ravishing tonight, " he said, raising her hand to his lips.

She had to let go of Dino's arm. "Thank you," she said as Orsini ignored her efforts to extricate her hand from his. "It's very kind of you to say."

"I was wonder whether I might impose on you for a few moments." His smile would have been charming if Bianchi hadn't wanted to shake her hand free of his. "My father wanted to speak with you."

Bianchi doubted Flavio Orsini wanted any such thing. She smiled anyway. "Of course." She glanced at the other three. "Please excuse me."

Huh. Dino really _was_ glaring at Orsini for her, she noticed as she let Orsini guide her away.

As she'd expected, the "questions" turned out to be a pretext for Orsini to monopolize her for a few minutes while his father rattled on about the decorations. Bianchi gritted her teeth and bore with it, and was almost relieved when Antonio Balducci insinuated himself into the conversation and edged the Orsinis out of it. At least Balducci had grown out of the overeager puppy stage and was moderately interesting to talk to—as long as she ignored the fact that he was after the Falco for himself.

Maybe she just wouldn't get married at all, she thought. What she needed was an heir to follow after her, not a husband, and there was always artificial insemination for that.

The announcement that supper was being served prevented her from sharing that idea with Balducci. Bianchi saved it for Gervasio instead, offering it in exchange for the way he'd extricated her from Balducci's clutches. He appreciated it more than Balducci would have, anyway, judging by the bray of laughter he had to stifle. "God, Boss, I don't know if we're ready for that yet."

"Is this the face of a woman who cares?" she retorted, watching her guests move towards their tables.

"Well, perhaps we'll find a better compromise than that."

"I'm not going to hold my breath," she muttered, following the last of her guests in, only to discover that Licia had arranged the seating so that the Vongola and the Cavallone were seated with the Falco. "What was that you were saying about subtlety?" she asked him.

His smile was innocent. "I didn't have anything to do with this, Boss."

Bianchi eyed him, not believing a word of it. "I begin to suspect that there is a conspiracy going on behind my back."

"Paranoia doesn't become you, Boss," he told her as he let her slide into her seat next to Dino.

That wasn't an answer. Sneaky bastard. Bianchi decided not to complain when it let her smile across the table at Kyouko. "So how was the flight from Japan?"

The amiable way that Dino was smiling in the face of Pasquale Orsini's sullen expression reconciled her to the thought of a conspiracy as well, of course. So did the way Dino leaned over during the soup course to whisper, "I think he's trying to kill me with the power of his mind."

Bianchi didn't bother stifling her giggle. "Guess you're not in any real danger, then."

"You know, I'd hoped you were exaggerating about him," he said.

"Don't I wish," she sighed. "He's been sending gifts and letters and other tokens of his esteem to me for weeks now." The boy wasn't taking a hint, either, despite the way she kept declining the gifts and writing brief, impersonal responses to his letters.

Dino made a distinctly cranky sound at that. Haru, who hadn't even bothered to pretend that she wasn't listening in, cocked her head. "Is he really trying to court you right under Dino-san's nose? Isn't that really rude?"

Thank goodness she'd used Japanese and not Italian, Bianchi thought, clearing her throat. "It's a little more complicated than that. Ask Hayato to explain it to you later." She switched back to Italian as Hayato suffered a coughing fit, smiled at Tsuna, and said, "How are things going with your new holdings?"

"They're a little touchy," he said, which sounded about right to Bianchi, given his plans for them.

Bianchi was aware that Kyouko and Haru were both watching her as the conversation veered into the more comfortable discussion of business, studying her and Dino both. Well, that wasn't too surprising; she'd have to have them out for coffee and explain things more clearly than Hayato was likely to do.

But for the time being, she was going to relax and enjoy the meal and the company.

"You are going to claim the first dance, aren't you?" she hissed to Dino later as they rose from the tables at the close of the meal. She could see Orsini and Balducci already beginning to vie with each other for the best place to ambush her.

"First and last dance, I think." He smiled down at her, wry. "Don't believe I'll have a chance at too many in between."

He was right, of course. It was too bad, but couldn't be helped. Besides, she wasn't quite prepared to be that rude to the whole room. "First and last it is." They were almost to Orsini and Balducci, so she summoned up all her charm to foist them off to the second and third dances, respectively.

"What are you going to do?" Dino asked her as they stepped onto the dance floor.

She settled a hand on his shoulder and let him take the other. "Turkey baster and a sperm donor." Bianchi grinned at the look on his face as the music started up. "Dunno yet, actually. I'm refusing to think about it. You?"

"About the same." His mouth tilted. "I'm still holding out for Monaco."

"Mm. Me too." Bianchi sighed. "Gervasio says we might be able to scrape a few more months out of this."

"He's being generous."

"I know, but I'm not going to stop him if he wants to be." Bianchi shook herself. "And this is depressing. Let's not talk about it. Think Hayato's realized he's doomed yet?"

"He has, but he's repressing it very well." Dino glanced across the room, probably to where Hayato and Haru were either dancing or arguing or both, and smiled, faint. "It'll last about as long as it takes for her to get settled in. Or for Tsuna to work up the guts to ask Kyouko and for them to decide a double wedding would be fun."

"That's about what I was thinking, yeah." Bianchi snickered. "Poor Hayato." He never had learned to surrender gracefully.

Dino's mouth twisted just a bit. "Yeah, poor Hayato." The faint bitterness in his voice made her throat ache.

That wasn't going to do. "Anyway. You are going to stay the night, aren't you?" That ought to do the trick for both of them.

His smile evened out again and turned soft. "If you'd like."

"Don't be an ass. Of course I'd like."

At least he looked better after that, and she didn't have to worry about him quite as much when the song came to a close and Orsini turned up to claim her.

The problem with poor Pasquale, she decided as she listened to him nattering on, was that he was just too young, despite the handful of years he had on her. He hadn't ever gone anywhere or done anything and he'd certainly never ever had to get his own hands dirty. And he thought he could take a Family like the Falco and hold it? The very thought was ridiculous.

Balducci, on the other hand, was more of a problem. "You and Cavallone are very close, aren't you?" he asked as they swung into the first steps of a waltz.

"If you want to call it that." Bianchi eyed him carefully. "Why do you ask?"

"I like to think of myself as a practical man." He smiled at her, polite and all business. "And I'm not a jealous man. You might consider that as you select your husband."

"That's remarkably cold-blooded of you." And unexpectedly blatant. "Are you really suggesting that you wouldn't care if I were to cuckold you?"

"Not if I received something in compensation." Balducci's hand tightened around the fingers of her right hand, squeezing the band of the Falco ring. "Given the proper motivation, you'll find that I can be quite accommodating."

He dared. He _dared_! Bianchi breathed in through her noise and exhaled through her mouth, focusing on seeing through the red haze of her rage. "I _see_," she said through her teeth. "That's a very interesting offer. I'll be sure to give it all the consideration it deserves."

"I'm sure you will." Balducci sounded so sure of himself that it was all Bianchi could do not to slam a poison cupcake between his teeth.

After that it was a positive relief to have a dance with Tsuna, who merely looked at her with trouble in his eyes—he was still thinking about what she'd done to the Macrini, she supposed—and mostly talked about Kyouko, though Bianchi suspected he didn't realize he was doing it. After Tsuna it was a series of other bosses and the relatively simple matter of politics and business and navigating around the other dancers. That was relaxing, or at least familiar, and she only had to endure a handful of dances with Orsini interspersed with the business.

Bianchi was still relieved to see Dino appear out of crowd to claim the final dance (while Orsini stood back, looking like he was gnawing on his own liver in jealousy, and Balducci merely caught her eye and smiled pointedly). "You look tired," Dino said; his hand at her waist guided her half a step closer than propriety would have advised.

"I am tired." That was why she was leaning against him, of course. "You _are_ going to sleep in tomorrow morning, aren't you?" She'd bribe Romario herself if that was what it took.

A smile touched his mouth. "I could be persuaded to."

"I'll be very persuasive," Bianchi promised him.

"And I'll be easily swayed." Dino pressed her a little closer and they finished the dance in silence.

She caught Gervasio's eye during the fuss of bidding a good evening to her guests; he gave her a faintly exasperated look, probably wondering why they hadn't arranged this _before_ the party. He managed to spirit Dino away from the crowd anyway, possibly through the judicious application of some magic only right hands knew.

It was even nicer than she'd expected it to be when she finally made her way upstairs and found that Dino was sprawled on the couch in her sitting room, tie undone and jacket thrown over a chair, dangling a glass of wine in his fingers. "Hey," he said as she closed the door behind her.

"Hey," Bianchi returned, fingers finding the lock behind her and throwing it.

They looked at each other for a moment before Dino's lips curved up. He set the glass aside and rose to meet her.

It was a relief not to have to say anything more than that and to turn her face up to his for a kiss before taking his hand and leading him into the bedroom. She helped him with his cufflinks in silence; in return, he teased each of the pins out of her hair and undid the zipper of her dress. They let the pieces of their clothes fall where they stood until they were both bare, and slid into bed to lose themselves in the slide of skin against skin and the sureness of each other's mouths as they moved together.

And Dino simply held her afterwards when Bianchi finally lost the battle with herself and cried hot, silent tears against his shoulder, because there really wasn't anything more they could say to each other.

* * *

"So how are you finding Italy now that you're here?" Bianchi asked once she'd taken Kyouko and Haru all over the house and then settled with them in the parlor that she was coming to think of as her own.

Kyouko paused over her tea, clearly looking for the right answer. Haru waited for her to say, "It's different," before chiming in with, "Some of the weird stuff we went through while Reborn was training Tsuna-kun makes a _lot_ more sense now."

Bianchi laughed over her coffee. "Some things really only do make sense once you see them in context, yeah." And some of the other things Reborn did _never_ made sense. It was Reborn's particular genius that there was no telling which it would be until well after the fact.

"It's been interesting." Kyouko set her teacup back in its saucer and looked at Bianchi. "Why didn't you ever say that you were going to be a boss, too?"

So Hayato hadn't explained after all. Little weasel. Bianchi sighed. "Because I never expected to be boss." That was the simplest way to explain it. "When I left home, I thought I'd left the Falco for good, and thought my father would do the sensible thing and find himself a way to acquire another son. But he didn't." And then he'd died. "So here I am." Bianchi smiled for them. "It was almost as much of a surprise for me as it was for Tsuna."

"Hayato-kun says you were lucky not to end up married off to someone so _he_ could be boss," Haru told her.

Oh, good girls; they'd remembered to get their information from multiple sources and compare notes to see the disparities. Bianchi smiled at them both, proud of them. "Luck didn't have anything to do with it. I put my foot down about it, and then... some things happened that made the point moot."

"Your war with the Macrini." Kyouko nibbled a cookie, looking like she was reordering things in her head and finding that they made more sense that way.

"More or less." Bianchi shrugged at them. "Not that you could really call that a war. It was more like the culmination of a very long feud." And it was all over now, except for sorting out the last few die-hard Macrini people, but Uncle Stefano and Guiseppe seemed to be enjoying that process. "You two still sure you want to do this? It might not be too late for you to go home again."

Their steel showed in the blaze of Kyouko's eyes and the way Haru's spine stiffened. "_This_ is home now," Kyouko told her.

Bianchi smiled. "Just checking." Yes, they were going to do very well.

Haru relaxed. "Okay, then." She sniffed. "Besides, you know very well that the boys couldn't take care of themselves if their lives depended on it."

Bianchi raised her eyebrows. "They do have a staff to look after them now." It was worth pointing out, however much she was inclined to agree with them.

"Oh, that." Haru rolled her eyes. "Of course there's _that_. But that's not what I meant."

"No one argues with Gokudera-kun when she's not around," Kyouko explained. Her eyes turned darker. "And no one makes Tsuna rest when he needs it if I'm not there. The boys never seem to think of it themselves."

"The boys," Haru muttered, tone dour, "think Tsuna-kun is _invincible_."

A person would think they'd all know better, but that visit to future-that-wasn't had been years ago now, and the teenaged mind could be very resilient. Bianchi smiled at them. "It's good that you two are here."

They exchanged glances. When she spoke, Kyouko's tone was very gentle. "If you'll excuse my asking, who takes care of you, Bianchi-san?"

"I'm old enough to be taking care of myself," Bianchi said, amused. "Unless you listen to Uncle Stefano or Gervasio." But it was a right hand's job to fuss, and Uncle Stefano still called her his baby girl—what could one do?

Kyouko gave her a grave look. "Not Dino-san?"

And they were come to it at last. "Dino has his own people to look after."

There was another exchange of glances at that, this one heavy with significance. "Even though the two of you love each other?" Kyouko was pressing very gently, but she was pressing nonetheless. Ruthless girl. She was going to do well as the Vongola Tenth's wife.

"That doesn't really enter into it." Bianchi kept her hands and her voice steady. "There's... duty to consider, I suppose you might say. Obligations to meet." Duty and obligation—they would understand those as well as any daughter of the mafia might.

By the looks on their faces, they did, though they didn't like it much. Haru bit her lip. "But you always talked about how important love is."

Was that ever going to stop haunting her? "It is. It's vital." Bianchi took a fortifying sip of coffee and smiled for them. "We can't survive in this world without it."

Kyouko set her cookie down and dusted the sugar from her fingers. "I know I'm still learning how to understand things here. Can you tell me what it is that means you and Dino can't—" She paused, correcting herself. "—shouldn't be together?"

"We're both bosses." Bianchi listed the facts off for them with the same calm she used for discussing other pieces of business. It helped, a little. "We owe a responsibility to our Families to watch over them, protect them from other Families, and work to help them prosper. I would no sooner merge the Falco with the Cavallone than Dino would merge the Cavallone into the Falco." She snorted. "And you couldn't have a Family with two Bosses, either, and God knows I'm not going to turn my Family over to anyone who isn't Falco, not even Dino. And that doesn't even touch on the matter of _heirs_. Would our hypothetical kid inherit one Family or two? Would I need to have two kids, and hope they both turned out competent?" She spread her hands. "So you see: very complicated."

Haru and Kyouko listened closely and looked at each other again. "Maybe I'm missing something," Haru said, slow and careful, "but is there any rule that says you and Dino-san would _have_ to merge your Families if you got married?"

"That's generally what happens in these cases," Bianchi said. "If not in this generation, then in the next, if one kid takes over both. Or even if there are siblings, one for each Family. God help your Families if the kids don't get along. Or one of them decides he wants one big Family instead of two smaller ones."

"So you need an heir that has no attachment to the Cavallone." Haru crossed her legs and settled her clasped hands on her knee. "What about one of your brother's children?"

"Hayato's children? He's part of the Vongola now, and, oh yes, still single and freaked out by the idea of being a father." And just why was Haru smiling like that? "Not to mention that he would have to be willing to let me adopt one of his kids for an heir, and face it, he doesn't have a lot of love for the Falco." And her kids would still be tied to the Falco, too, which would give them a claim—although a clear line of succession might be enough to allay some of that concern—why was she even thinking that?

Haru waved an airy hand at her. "Assume that he was willing and not single. Would his children be Falco enough?"

"...his mother wasn't married to our father, you realize." Though that could be ignored in extreme cases, if the Family were properly motivated—no, seriously, she _wasn't_ going to let herself think about this. Bianchi gave herself a sharp mental shaking.

Haru just smiled at her. "The Ninth tells me that such things wouldn't matter as long as Hayato-kun's children were born to married parents."

Bianchi nearly choked on her coffee. When she'd stopped coughing, she stared at them, horrified. "Oh my God. Please tell me that you didn't talk to the _Ninth_ about this."

Kyouko blinked at her, all innocence if one didn't happen to notice the faint sparkle of humor lurking in her eyes. "But you always told us that a wise woman consults her experts and her elders when she has a problem. And the Ninth is definitely an expert _and_ an elder."

Damn it, they really had listened to all the things she'd told them. God help her. "All the same, you shouldn't have asked him about this," she gritted out. Her grasp on propriety was somewhat looser than Hayato's, but there were some things that simply were not done.

"Oh. Well. It's too late now." Haru shrugged, the shameless chit, and helped herself to another cookie. "So, would a niece or a nephew be good enough for you?"

Oh, the hell with it. "Hypothetically, yes." Bianchi rubbed her forehead. "But you can't honestly be telling me that Hayato would agree to any such thing when he still can't look you in the eye without turning red."

"Oh," Haru said, just the faintest hint of a smirk playing around her mouth, "he's willing."

Bianchi stared at her for a moment and reached for her pocket. "Haru, you know I love you, and it's not that I don't want to believe you," she said as she found her phone and dialed without looking at the numbers, "but you'll have to forgive me if I—Hayato, yes, hello."

"Neesan." Did he sound even more wary than usual? "Is something up?"

"Haru's been telling me some very strange ideas that she has and she's throwing your name around awfully lightly." The patient way Kyouko and Haru were smiling at her was making her spine prickle with uneasiness. "Thought I should maybe check in with you."

Hayato groaned. "Oh God, please don't make me have this conversation with you, Neesan. _Please_."

"Which conversation would that be?" Bianchi asked, trying to breath around the strange constriction in her throat.

The sound he made was pathetic. "This one," he moaned. "Look, whatever she's saying, it's true, okay? I give you my word as—"

Oh God. "Hayato, are you really going to let me adopt one of your kids as an heir?"

The sigh he heaved was so deep that it must have come up from his toes. "Yes." He stopped and added, hurriedly, "As long as you're not in a hurry for it."

"No," Bianchi said, stunned, staring at the way Kyouko and Haru were grinning at her. "No hurry."

"Thank God for that," he muttered, and then cleared his throat. "Of course you realize that this is a completely crazy idea, so if you don't—"

"Shut up, Hayato." He shut up. Bianchi sucked in an unsteady breath. She had to get her Family to accept it and Dino would have to agree and it really was a fragile house of cards, so easy to tumble down, but if it _worked_—"You already gave your word, remember?"

"Guess so." His voice was gruff. "Guess you like the idea."

"Yeah. Yeah, I do." Bianchi let out a breath. "I—thank you, Hayato. I mean. _Thank you_."

"Thank that lunatic Miura, it was her idea." And if he didn't notice the way his voice softened on Haru's name, Bianchi wasn't going to be the one to tell him. "Can I get back to work now, please?"

"Yeah, sure. Sorry to bother you."

"Any time," he said, and hung up.

Bianchi lowered her phone slowly, staring at Haru and not really seeing her. "Holy shit," she said. "Holy _shit_." She shook her head to clear it and looked at their smiles. "How did you even think of this?"

Kyouko shrugged, her smile faint. "Sometimes it helps to have an outside perspective."

"So, you like the idea?" Haru's smile was hopeful.

"I do." Bianchi swallowed. "I like it very much."

Now she just had to persuade other people in the Falco to like it as much as she did.

* * *

"Hey, Boss," Gervasio said absently as Bianchi let herself into his office. Moving into Giancarlo's larger office had only given his clutter the incentive to grow; she still had to move a stack of newspapers from a chair before she could sit down. "Have a nice visit with your friends?"

_Nice_ didn't begin to cover it. "Gervasio." She waited for him to look up from what he was reading. His smile vanished as he met her eyes. "I'm going to describe something to you. I need your honest, unvarnished opinion about whether it will work."

He capped his pen and laid it aside, folded his hands on the desk in front of him, and said, "Lay it on me."

Bianchi took a breath to steady herself and described the plan Haru and Kyouko had cobbled together, keeping her tone as clinical and her descriptions as accurate as she could manage. He listened attentively, giving no sign of what he thought. When she reached the end, she pressed her hands together and asked, "So, what do you think?"

Gervasio didn't answer right away. He sat back in his chair, resting his elbows on the arms and tapping his fingers against his lips as he stared into the space above her head. "Relies on a lot of what-ifs, Boss."

"I know." She'd just laid them all out, after all.

He carried on, ignoring her interjection. "And you'll have a lot of people worried about Cavallone taking over. And those who'll think that your heir should be your own blood."

"Hayato _is_ my blood, on the side that matters." And the other side didn't matter so much. "And Dino will keep his hands off my Family, especially if he knows what's good for him." A thought occurred to her: why didn't anyone ever wonder whether she could be trusted to keep her hands off _Dino's_ Family?

"Mm." He tapped his fingers against his lips, still staring into space. "And it's extremely unconventional."

Bianchi managed a breath of a laugh. "I'm not much good at conventional, you know that."

Gervasio looked at her then. His eyes were steady. "Do you want this, Boss?"

Of all the ridiculous questions...! He knew damn well that she wanted it, so Bianchi met his eyes and countered that with, "Will it work?"

"Probably. We might have to drag people into it, kicking and screaming and dragging their heels all the way, but if everything goes off the way you describe it, it should work as well as any of our little arrangements do." Gervasio tilted his head, still looking at her. "So, do you want this?"

What a stupid question. Bianchi frowned at him, but he just waited. He was going to make her say it, wasn't he? "I do, but—"

He shook his head and held up a hand, forestalling her. "All right. If you want it and Cavallone does too, then we'll do it, and never mind how many heads I have to break to get it done." He grinned at the way she was boggling at him. "Boss. You give an order, I see it carried out. That's the way it works, remember?"

Bianchi sat back in her seat, stunned for the second time that afternoon. "Somehow, I expected you to argue more." Had expected him to say no, or to say that it was impossible, or to force her to try to persuade him to go along with it, not to acquiesce without even a token show of resistance.

Gervasio sniffed. "Please. You should know me better than that by now. You want real arguments, wait till we spring this on the rest of your underbosses. I said it would probably work. I didn't say it was going to be _easy_."

"Nothing worth doing is," Bianchi said, reeling. Jesus Christ, Gervasio thought it would work and was willing to fight it out for her. She looked at him, suddenly suspicious. "You're not humoring me, are you?"

"No, I'm not humoring you." He smiled, kind. "I'm your right hand. Not your mother."

"God, what a mental image." Bianchi ran a hand over her face, dizzy. "Oh my God."

"Oh, Lord." Gervasio sounded absolutely horrified. "Oh, God, please don't be crying, Boss. I'm not good with tears, really I'm not."

Funny, she wouldn't have expected that to be what it took to put a note of panic in his voice. "I'm not crying!" She was just—overwrought, and needed a moment.

"Oh, sweet Jesus." When she peered at him from between her fingers, she saw that the sudden clattering was him rummaging in a drawer and pouring her a finger of the whisky he kept there. "Here," he said, pressing it into her hand, eyes a little wild.

"Really, I'm not crying," she insisted. She drank it off anyway, letting it burn down her throat and settle in her stomach, a steadying glow.

"Just something in your eye. Right. Hate it when that happens." He peered down at her, clearly nervous that she was going to fall apart right there in front of him.

His obvious terror made Bianchi laugh, however shakily, and pull herself together. "Sorry. Better now."

"Thank God for that." Gervasio clapped his hands together. "Okay. Now go get yourself all dolled up and I'll call you a car and get your escort lined up." When she blinked at him, he gave her an impatient look. "You've got to go talk to Cavallone, right?"

"I—yes. Yes, I suppose so." Oh dear God, what if _Dino_ didn't think this was a good plan?

Gervasio gave her a warm, encouraging smile. "Yes, of course you do. Now, up you get, and just remember, I'm here to break his legs for you if you need me to."

It was probably only thanks to the whisky that Bianchi's laughter at that was only a little bit brittle.

* * *

Gervasio hadn't just called for a car and her security, Bianchi decided when Dino's people handed her out of the car and Romario himself was on hand to greet her. "Ms. Falco," he said, eyes smiling. "A pleasure to see you, as always."

That was interesting. "Is it?" she asked him as he escorted her inside.

"Always." His mouth quirked under his mustache. "I've enjoyed our recent opportunities to work with the Falco. I do hope we'll be able to continue working together in the future."

Yes, she was detecting a distinct whiff of collusion between right hands in this. "I'm very glad to hear that."

Romario smiled at her. "I'm sure." He glanced at the men who were trailing after them. "May I have our people offer yours some refreshment?"

Bianchi gestured at them; Mario and Paolo only went reluctantly, but they did let themselves be led away by the handful of Cavallone men. "So I take it that you've been talking to Gervasio."

"We spoke. It's a tidy solution, I must say. If you'll come this way...?" Romario guided her deeper into the house, towards the area where she knew Dino kept his office. "He hasn't quite finished for the day." His tone indicated that he didn't entirely approve of that, not that Bianchi blamed him when it was closer to seven than six. "Would you like me to announce you, or would you prefer to surprise him?"

"I think a pleasant surprise to end the day on," Bianchi decided. "In exchange for the one he gave me." That was only fair.

"As you like." They walked on in silence, until Romario stopped and gestured at a particular door. "Here you are."

Bianchi took a breath and smiled at him, pretending that she wasn't suppressing her nerves. "Thank you, Romario."

He smiled again. "It's a pleasure," he murmured, bowing and stepping back.

The door opened nearly silently, not that the man working inside would have noticed if it hadn't. Dino was hard at work, forehead resting against the heel of his palm and fingers worrying his hair as he scowled at the stack of papers in front of him. Bianchi watched him for nearly a minute, cataloging the rolled-up sleeves and the tie hanging loose around his collar and the way the evening sunlight caught in his hair, before he made a satisfied sound and corrected something on the paper. He happened to glance up then and started when he saw her. "Gah!"

"And a good evening to you, too." Bianchi came away from the door then, smiling at his surprise.

He laughed and shook his head. "What are you—how long have you been standing there?" he asked, starting to stand.

Bianchi preempted him by coming around his desk and perching one hip on it. "Not very long." There was just a hint of sandy stubble on the jaw beneath her fingers when she tipped his chin up and kissed him.

"Not that I'm not thrilled to see you, but what on earth are you doing here?" he asked when she finally pulled herself away from his mouth.

Bianchi caught the hand he settled on her waist and wrapped her fingers around it, letting the warmth of his hand steady her nerves as she looked down at him. "I need to talk to you about something important."

Dino's open expression froze and turned shuttered. A muscle in his jaw fluttered as he swallowed, but his tone was even when he said, "You've decided what to do about the Falco's future, haven't you?"

She gripped his hand more tightly before he could try to pull it away. "As a matter of fact, I have. But hear me out, first."

He set his jaw and gave her a slow nod. "Go ahead."

He was so clearly prepared to hear the worst that Bianchi wrapped her other hand around his, stroking the back of it. "I've talked to Hayato, and we've agreed that one of his children will follow after me. It's unusual, of course, but Gervasio is sure that we'll be able to make the Falco swallow it."

That clearly wasn't the solution Dino had been bracing himself to hear. "Adopt... that's unorthodox," he said, mulling it over, eyes beginning to clear. "But it's been done before." He smiled, rueful. "And it's definitely better than marrying because you have to."

"And I'm certainly not going to do that." Was it possible that he hadn't considered the other half of it yet? The melancholy twist of his smile suggested that he hadn't. Bianchi gripped his hand more tightly. "But I _will_ marry for love, provided you promise me that you'll keep your grubby Cavallone fingers off the Falco and let me run my Family however I see fit."

It took a moment for that to sink in. Bianchi smiled as Dino stared up at her, slack-jawed and wide-eyed. When she thought he'd had enough time to be stupefied, she nudged his knee with her toe. "So, how about it? Monaco still sound good to you?"

Dino's smile bloomed across his face, slow and incredulous. "I don't think anything has ever sounded better." He swallowed again and looked up at her, anxious hope naked in his eyes. "You really mean it?"

"I do," Bianchi said, gripping his hand in hers. "I won't have anyone else." She found a crooked smile for him. "You've ruined me for other men, Cavallone, so I hope you're pleased with yourself."

"I—" he began, and stopped. He rested his other hand on top of hers. "I couldn't imagine being happier." He swallowed again. "I didn't think—"

She nodded when he stopped. "I know." She hadn't cried in front of Gervasio; she wasn't going to do it now, either, so she smiled at him. "So, Monaco?"

Dino's smile was as bright as the sun. "Monaco," he agreed, and paused, brow wrinkling just a bit. "As long as _you_ promise to keep your hands off the Cavallone, anyway."

Bianchi laughed until she was breathless. "I think I can do that," she agreed, and let him pull her down to his lap for another kiss.

**end**

Comments, as always, are lovely!


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